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TOMALYN’S QUEST 


B IRovel 



G. B. BURGIN 

AUTHOR OF “ Gascoigne’s ‘ ghost ’ ” 



OV 16 ’89r I 


NEW YORK 

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

1897 





Copyright, 1896, by Harper & Brothers. 




All rights reserved. 


NUNCUPATIO 

HONORI AMICORUM 

HALL CAINE, JEROME K. JEROME, BARRY PAIN 
A. CONAN DOYLE 

DUMMODO HAEC NOMINA INSCRIPTA POSTERITATI 
REVOCENT NESCIO QUID MEMORIAE MEI 
nUNC LIBRDM 
EGO SCRIPTOR 


D. D. D. 



CONTEI^TS 


CEfAPTER PAGE 

I. The Syeen 1 

II. Tompkins Pasha 20 

III. Koueeian Deaws ‘‘Fiest Blood” . 43 
lY. A Youthful Fiee-eatee . . . . 59 

Y. Goechoff 80 

YI. JVIes. Beangwyn Plays a Paet 105 

YII. Koueeian Teies Again .... 125 

YIII. Keteibution 143 

IX. Goechoff Explains 158 

X. The Widow’s Gift 178 

XI. The Coming of Koueeian . . .194 

XII. Exit Goechoff 205 

XIII. Goechoff’s Successoe 226 

XIY. Koueeian Keappeaes 243 

XY. Betwixt Two Woelds . . . .252 

XYI. Xemesis 265 




TOMALYN’S QUEST 


CHAPTER I 
THE SYREH 

One November afternoon, nearly twenty 
years ago, youthful Tomalyn Crane leaned 
over the side of the vessel which was to carry 
him from Marseilles to Constantinople. There 
must be a wider horizon there than in Eng- 
land, thought Crane, and wondered what form 
it would take. But horizon he must have at 
any cost, wide or narrow. He wanted to grow 
up and become a man — a man with experi- 
ences. This was the object of his quest. 

As the crowd of incoming passengers grew 
greater Crane narrowly escaped treading on 
the tail of a black-muzzled pug. He noticed 
that there was a lady attached by a cord to 
the other end of the animal. They sat side by 
side at dinner — without the pug — and Crane 
saw from the card on her plate that she was 
1 


2 


a Mrs. Brangwyn. Later he learned that her 
Christian name was ‘‘AirriP’; he also discov- 
ered that she had a past, which was interest- 
ing and daring and new to him. Hitherto 
all the women he had met in his native village 
looked forward to the future; none of them 
was conscious of a past of any consequence. 
During the first course Mrs. Brangwyn held 
him with her beautiful eyes and her equally 
beautiful complexion — a complexion which 
was marvellous in its soft brilliancy. Her 
eyes and complexion imparted a novel zest to 
his dinner altogether, and yet took away his 
appetite. She responded to his somewhat 
bashful overtures with the well-bred ease of a 
woman of the world, and the air of one to 
whom admiration was too ordinary an incident 
to disturb her appetite. Perhaps Crane’s 
youthfulness lent her dinner an unusual fiavor 
also ; for she smiled once or twice, and ravished 
the lad with a blinding glance from her ex- 
quisite brown eyes. To escape from the thral- 
dom of Mrs. Brangwyn’s eyes he pretended to 
be interested in Constantinople. It was aston- 
ishing what a varied fund of information Mrs. 
Brangwyn possessed about Stamboul. She 
even quoted the “Maid of Athens” to him, 
with the air of one accustomed to inspire sim- 


3 


ilar verses. In reply, the lad informed her 
that he was going out as secretary to an Eng- 
lish pasha in the Turkish army, and to see life. 
All his friends had told him that it was very 
necessary he should “ see life ” before settling 
down as a model English landlord ; his tenants 
would respect him more, and pay their rents 
punctually, instead of asking to be paid for 
looking after the land. 

“Are you quite sure you haven’t done any- 
thing?” asked Mrs. Brangwyn, after Tomalyn 
had finished his Elysian meal. 

It seemed to him that it had only lasted a 
few minutes. They were now on deck. Mrs. 
Brangwyn, a lace shawl disposed mantilla- wise 
over her head, was even more effective in the 
moonlight than at the dinner-table. Her great, 
soft eyes shone with a light which Tomalyn 
imagined to be spiritual, but which, in reality, 
was due to a most excellent digestion. The 
youth ransacked the poets for an appropri- 
ate quotation; but even Byron could not 
have done justice to this exquisite human 
poem. 

Mrs. Brangwyn repeated her question. Her 
soft, low voice thrilled the lad to the core. 

“ Done something !” he echoed. “ Do you — 
eh — mean — ?” 


4 


Oh, those eyes ! those eyes ! They were 
unearthly in the radiance of their regard. 

Yes. People don’t come out here, as a rule, 
unless they — ” 

Find it convenient 
“ Exactly. What was it 
The lad laughed. Oh, it was so dull at 
home. I wanted to see the world. Get a 
lance and tilt at windmills, and all that sort 
of thing, you know.” 

“ Why ? You’ll onl}’' want to run away from 
the world some day. And it is not easy to tilt 
at windmills. They always present a masterly 
inactivity. Hadn’t you better be a windmill ?” 

Perhaps ; but I want to see the world all 
the same.” 

‘‘Call on me when we get to Constantino- 
ple. I am the world — there. You shall see 
me, if you will not — ” 

“ What?’’ Heaven was opening to him. 

“ Treat me as if I were a windmill.” 

She went below, leaving the lad wondering 
why his heart beat so excitedly. He leaned 
over the side of the vessel — her eyes looked 
out of the lapping waves ; he turned his gaze 
to the stars — they answered him again from 
two twin golden tears suspended in the blue. 
Then he went to bed, and dreamed of her as 


5 


Helen of Troy, Guinevere, and half a dozen 
other heroines of all time. 

For the greater part of the next day Mrs. 
Brangwyn sat motionless, with a biscuit, in- 
tended for the pug, on her lap. And her com- 
plexion was not quite so brilliant as it had 
been under the soft light of the moon. Crane 
thought her unflinching rigidity pathetic as 
the vessel rolled and tumbled about under the 
influence of unexpected bad weather. 

“ I am not going to be ill, Mr. Crane,” she 
musically declared; “it is so commonplace.” 
Whereupon she promptly became common- 
place, and Tomalyn fled to the other end of 
the steamer, in order that he might not wit- 
ness, or weep at, her distress. 

“ How did I endure the rough weather ?” she 
asked Crane the next day. 

His youthful face flushed. “ You were not 
commonplace at all. If you were making a 
pudding you would still be a poem. The 
others were simply disgusting. I warned them 
at breakfast that we were going to have rough 
weather, but they wouldn’t believe me. You 
were the only woman on board who preserved 
her dignity.” 

“Ah, now you are becoming interesting,” 
the lady declared. “You have spent your 


6 


life with commonplace people who have no 
passions, no hates or loves. That is what 
comes of vegetating in an English county. 
You ought to meet a heroine — that is, if. you 
wish to see life — and live it.” She waited ex- 
pectantly. 

‘‘I — ^eh — ” He left the sentence unfin- 
ished in p. tumultuous kind of way, which 
implied that his emotion was too deep for 
words. But Mrs. Brangwyn quite understood 
that she had suddenly supplied what adver- 
tisers call ‘‘ a long-felt want ” in the lad’s 
heart. He was decidedly “training on.” Sat- 
isfied with the impression she had created, 
she retired to her cabin, and did not reappear 
until they reached the Piraeus the next morn- 
ing. 

Tomalyn did not enjoy his dinner that even- 
ing. It lacked fragrance and soul, the soft 
glance of gleaming eyes, the flash of white 
teeth. The other passengers — insensate owls, 
he thought them — wanted to know why he did 
not eat. Eat ! Faugh ! The very idea was 
sickening. People seemed to think that the 
universe was one vast stomach. What a ma- 
terial world it was ! About twelve at night he 
became very hungry himself, and was reduced 
to the ignoble necessity of tipping a steward to 


7 


get him some supper. Healthy lads must eat, 
even though their souls be in a ferment. 

When Crane came on deck the next morn- 
ing — his late supper had afflicted him with 
most unpleasant dreams — he found that the 
little town nestled close to the water’s edge. 
It consisted of fantastically shaped houses, in 
which it was impossible to perceive any trace 
of systematic design. The proprietors of the 
houses sat outside under rough awnings and 
watched perspiring Greek boatmen put off to 
the ship in gaudily painted caiques. Some 
of them smoked picturesque water-pipes in a 
leisurely way, which indicated that time did 
not matter in the least; Turks offered up 
their devotions to Allah from the roadway, 
while sailors of all nationalities watched this 
unusual — to them — proceeding with cheerful 
I irreverence and the frequent utterance of much 
polyglot blasphemy. 

Presently Mrs. Brangwyn appeared with 
another lady, a certain Mrs. Wyville Bains, 
who wanted to go up to Athens. 

“We will all three journey together, Mr. 
Crane,” declared Mrs. Brangwyn. “ Mrs. Wy- 
ville Bains wants to look after us both. She 
doesn’t like the steamer cookery, and makes 
this an excuse for leaving it.” 


8 


They drove up to Athens, with the blue sky 
above ; behind them the pellucid sea ; to the 
left the beautiful mountains, with ever- varying 
shadows flitting over their time-worn ridges. 
A slight breeze rustled through the silvery- 
leaved olives; the tremulous foliage became 
instinct with life and grace. Country boys, 
lounging on rude carts with careless ease, 
passed them now and again ; and when the 
dust-choked horses stopped to drink by the 
steep wayside, a Greek girl, lovely as the 
dawn, stepped forward with tinted lemon- 
ade and cool sherbet. The little hostelry 
whence she came was embowered in ancient 
poplars, and fragrant with the odor of 
myrtles. Behind the inn spreading vines 
stretched up to the hillside, the summit of 
which was crowned with scanty herbage — 
scanty, because of the incessant attacks upon 
it of the long-eared, parti-colored goats. And 
above the hill, stern guardian of ages yet to 
come, rose the Acropolis. 

Crane felt vaguely sorry when the lan- 
dau stopped in modern Athens before the 
Strangers’ Hotel. A lemon - visaged waiter 
received Mrs. Wyville Bains’s instantaneous 
order for breakfast with a manner which im- 
plied that she must wait his convenience. But 


9 


when he caught sight of Mrs. Brangwyn the 
man smiled and said a few soft - sounding 
words. 

“ Do you know what he is telling me she 
asked, turning to Crane. 

“ hTo. I hope it’s nothing imper — ” 

“ That I’m not as yellow as I used to be.” 

‘‘ I’ll thras — ” 

“ ISTo, please don’t. I was ill, and came here 
to recruit. He only means that he remem- 
bers me.” 

When they entered the hotel the breakfast 
proved to be a very bad one and the coffee 
undrinkable. 

“ Drink it,” commanded Mrs. Brangwyn, 
imperiously, handing her untasted cup to 
Crane. 

Crane swallowed the muddy beverage at a 
gulp. “ Delicious !” he cried, with the un- 
reasoning enthusiasm of youth. He would 
have said the same had he partaken of the 
waters of Marah. 

Mrs. Brangwyn smiled. “ Excuse me. I am 
so sorry, Mr. Crane. I — I wanted to see 
w^hether I could make you do it.” 

I’d cheerfully swallow a cask of it,” de- 
clared Crane. He had not even realized what 
he had been drinking, but imagined that it 


10 


was the customary beverage of the country 
^ % served up in the manner of coffee. 

Mrs. Wyville Bains suddenly called him to 
the window. Come and see this procession. 
You will enjoy it more than the misnamed 
coffee.’^ 

Crane joined her, his fair face aglow with 
the combined effects of youthful enthusiasm 
and bad coffee. 

A wedding, I suppose 

“ Stop and see,” maliciously said Mrs. 
Wyville Bains. 

Half a dozen boys with tapers were followed 
by Greek priests in sombre robes, chanting 
dolorously with a strong nasal intonation. 
Behind them came four men carrying a corpse. 

Crane started back, and nervously clutched 
at the curtain. 

The blue sky looked down upon the body 
of a young girl robed in white, with costly 
pearls on her bare throat and arms, and beau- 
tiful flowers perishing about her feet. A 
group of weeping friends followed the body. 
The pale lips and closed ejes of the young 
girl affected Crane painfully ; for everything 
around was full of rapturous life and color, 
the air balmily sweet, the trees radiantly 
green. 


11 


“ Are you ill V’ asked Mrs. Wyville Bains, 
in some surprise. ‘‘Have you never seen a 
funeral before, Mr. Crane 

“ The pity of it gasped Crane, looking 
at Mrs. Brangwyn, whose great eyes shone 
mistily through a veil of tears. 

“ I hate death,” she said, with blanched face. 
“ It is the only thing a woman cannot win 
over. Come away from it. We’ve nothing 
genuine about us. We jest at life and death, 
and fear both.” 

As Crane listened to the retreating chant of 
the priests his young heart grew cold within 
him. Then he looked at Mrs. Brangwyn. 

“ If it had been you !” he said, ingenuously. 

“ WeU?” 

“Even the sun would have darkened and 
the skies wept.” 

Mrs. Brangwyn gave him her parasol to 
carry, and Crane followed her out to the car- 
riage with very much the air of a proud young 
puppy who is intrusted with a stick for the 
nrst time. When they reached the ship he 
went to his cabin, praying vaguely for the 
dead girl— the girl who had lost the joy of 
living, of love, of happiness. 

Mrs. Brangwyn followed down the compan- 
ion with her eyes. 


12 


“ He will become interesting. He can still 
feel.” 

“ He must be very young, then,” acidly re- 
torted Mrs. Wy ville Bains. 

‘‘ Ah, he is none the worse for that. I fancy 
that we w^ould both willingly exchange our 
calculating wisdom for his ingenuousness.” 

You had better put him on your list, 
Airril. It is generally pretty full.” 

Mrs. Brangwyn frowned. “ Don’t be 
coarse.” 

She walked away with a characteristically 
haughty step ; but Mrs. Wy ville Bains called 
her back again. 

I laughed at the lad just now, though I 
like him. He reminds one of youth and 
blushes and the Ten Commandments and all 
that kind of thing. Isn’t it a pity to let him 
call on you ? It will not do him any good, and 
it may make him profoundly miserable.” 

“ I don’t know what you mean. You are 
positively sphinx-like, Elise. He does not bore 
me, and that is something. I shall not hurt 
your fledgling.” 

“ Oh no, he is not mine, he is yours ; and 
you should know by this time how capricious 
you are. Your whims sway you as thistle- 
down is swayed by the wind.” 


13 


“ Do you want me to change 

“ It might be an improvement.” 

“ How? You annoy me, Elise.” 

‘‘ Fou are too impulsive, and your impulsive- 
ness causes mistakes. I may be shallow and 
ugly, but I am sincere — at least, I mean to 
be.” 

Mrs. Brangwyn looked at the plain, shrew- 
ish face before her. 

You imply that I am not ?” 

‘‘Ah, well, you think you are — for five 
minutes at a time, perhaps. Let us go 
down.” 

Two days later, when the steamer arrived 
at Constantinople, all the tourists on board 
opened their guide-books, and painfully pre- 
pared to enjoy themselves. The hotel touts at 
once captured them ; and the last that Crane 
saw of this miscellaneous assemblage was its 
landing at the dirty quay, and its clamorous 
refusal — on principle — to bestow hakshish. 
The Custom-house officials — from want of 
principle, perhaps — were, on their part, equal- 
ly resolved to have it; consequently, they 
tumbled about everything in the trunks and 
valises of the exasperated travellers in a calm, 
imperturbable, passionless way, which ulti- 
mately produced the desired bribes, although 


14 


the latter were bestowed to the accompani- 
ment of a good deal of eloquent cursing. 

After the tourists had disappeared Crane 
turned to look at the sun as it rose through the 
misty dawn. Gulls wheeled round the vessel 
with plaintive cries ; light caiques, in which 
were seated gayly attired passengers, flitted 
across the Golden Horn past heavy market- 
boats laden with fruit and vegetables ; stately 
marble palaces rose from the water’s edge to 
greet towering minarets and cupolas, which 
became more distinct as the sun forced its 
upward way above the grim Galata Tower. 
Suddenly “ the eyes of the golden day ” burst 
forth over the dancing waves, transforming 
and beautifying the coal -vessels and traders 
lying closely interlocked. Over everything 
came that indescribable atmosphere of beauty 
and decay, of fairy -like loveliness and filth, 
of splendor and squalor, which envelopes an 
Eastern city. 

When the confusion of disembarkation was 
over Crane stood apart with Mrs. Brangwyn. 
She had been gazing amusedly at the various 
boats, but now she gradually turned away 
from them until her glance rested upon Crane. 
The amusement still remained, for she guessed 
intuitively that he regretted the breaking np 


15 


of the intimacy which had arisen on ship- 
board. 

He knew that people who can be friendly 
enough on a steamer are apt to ignore that 
friendliness when meeting elsewhere. "Would 
Mr,s. Brangwyn, who seemed to have time for 
everything, remember his existence, or forget 
the invitation which she had already given 
him ? From what he had seen of her activity 
on board ship he thought that she would find 
too much distraction ashore. When she was 
neither playing nor singing, nor analyzing 
people, she appeared to be occupied by the 
somewhat vulgar — at least, it would have 
seemed vulgar in any one else — ambition of 
reigning as a social queen. With the learned, 
she was a regal disciple; with the foolish, 
wisdom itself ; with the romantic, one whose 
sole object was to trample conventional follies 
underfoot ; and her manner delicately con- 
veyed to each of these representative individ- 
uals he alone was the kindred spirit, the green 
oasis, the water-spring in the desert, for whom 
she had so long and so vainly sought. 

The tricks that Mrs. Brangwyn’s imagina- 
tion played her were many and various. Given 
a woman who has the knack, perfected by 
practice, of grasping salient points in a man’s 


16 


character, of playing upon them with a skilful 
touch — a woman beautiful, with the power of 
varying her identity as often as the chameleon 
changes its color — and it is difficult for even 
a man of the world to be thoroughly on his 
guard against her. But what can be said of 
an ingenuous neophyte, whose very virtues 
are fatal to his power of successful resistance ? 
It is evident, from the first, that he must 
succumb to the charm of an experienced 
player who knows ail the ins and outs of 
the game. 

Crane was being carried along by the im- 
pulse of the moment. The glancing rays 
which issued from this bright, particular star 
dazzled his young vision. When these rays 
were obscured he felt like a Parsee deprived 
of his god. 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Brangwyn, after a long • 
silence, “ you are very absent this morning, Mr. 
Crane. It is but a poor compliment to me — 
when we are about to separate.” 

There was a subtle softness and challenge 
in this apparently commonplace speech for 
which Crane was unprepared. It conveyed the 
idea that she would miss him ; and yet, coming 
from any one else, the insinuation would have 
been repellent. Her languorous eyes drooped 


17 


pensivel}^; she looked sad. His pulse began 
to jump. 

Yet the expression of her eyes suddenly 
changed, and she forgot all about Crane as a 
tall, elegant man made his way through the 
crowd. His reddish hair was slightly tinged 
with white. Keen blue eyes shot satirical 
glances at the crowd on deck. Crane could 
see that his forehead was broad and high. A 
heavy beard shaded the lower part of his face 
and hid its expression. And yet, though full 
of latent energy, Pentley Kidge had an air of 
dreaminess, of abstraction from the world and 
its concerns, as if he had become thoroughly 
bored with every one, himself included. From 
the top of his round hat to the sole of his neat 
shoes an irony made itself felt, of which even 
his dress seemed to partake. 

“I thought you’d be here,” he murmured, 
shaking hands with Mrs. Brangwyn, and be- 
stowing an imperceptible glance upon Crane. 
“ Decided that Pd come down and pilot you 
through the Customs. Of course, you’ve things 
to declare, which you are firmly determined 
to smuggle through. Where are they ? Give 
them to my man, Demetri; he’ll distribute 
hakshish instead of paying duty. It comes 
to nearly the same thing in the end.” 

2 


18 


“ I want to introduce Mr. Crane to you,” 
said Mrs. Brangwyn, radiantly. He is going 
to Tomkins Pasha to see the world — Tomkins 
Pasha’s world. And he has not the slightest 
conception of what is in store for him.” 

Pentley Eidge bowed. ‘‘ Perhaps Tomkins 
hasn’t, either. Won’t Mr. Crane find Tom- 
kins’s world rather limited, after yours 

You will both dine with me to-night,” said 
Mrs. Brangwyn, evading the question, if my 
people can find us anything to eat. Then you 
can settle the matter between you.” 

Pentley Eidge looked at Crane as the latter 
went in search of his goods and chattels. 

“ Ought to have a good appetite at his age. 
Should think he’d swallow anything.” 

‘‘ What did you say ?” asked Mrs. Brang- 
wyn. 

“ Oh, nothing. Merely hoped he’d enjoy 
his dinner, that’s all.” 

Mrs. Brangwyn smiled. ‘‘Ah, you are jeal- 
ous already. And at your age, too! Why, 
he is a baby, an infant, a young, unbroken 
puppy, and just as soft and pattable.” 

Pentley Eidge gave an almost imperceptible 
shrug of his shoulders. 

“ My dear Airril, jealous of that ! I am too 
old to be jealous of anything but Time. Let 


19 


me see you to your carriage. Shall I chain 
the puppy to it, or is it allowed to run wild 

When Crane returned the world was empty. 
Mrs. Brangwyn had gone ; he did not even 
know her address. 

‘^You come? Good hotel — dam good ho- 
tel — Lor’ Byron’s dam good hotel,” said a 
greasy hybrid, thrusting a card into Crane’s 
unwilling hand. 

Crane departed as in a dream to the “ dam 
good hotel — Lor’ Byron’s dam good hotel,” 
and marvelled greatly that “ Childe Harold ” 
could ever have lived to leave its gloomy halls. 
After lunch he discovered Mrs. Brangwyn’s 
address, and felt better. Surely Turkish days 
were very much longer than English ones! 
Then he hired a guide to take him about, saw 
the beggars on the Stamboul bridge, and again 
lost his appetite. Would the evening ever 
come? 


CHAPTER II 


TOMKINS PASHA 

About eight o’clock Crane set out for Mrs. 
Brangvvyn’s house, filled with a youthful curi- 
osity as to the people he was about to meet. 
He had learned incidentally at lunch that ev- 
erybody of any social consequence knew Mrs. 
Brangwyn, and that he would find it a very 
pleasant place at which to be received. 

His guide took him through narrow streets, 
filled with dirt and howling dogs, to an alley, 
at one end of which stood a great stone build- 
ing. Ho sooner had Crane knocked than the 
massive iron doors swung open, and a porter 
preceded him along an unevenly paved pas- 
sage, up a flight of steps, and through another 
long passage, whence he finally emerged, feel- 
ing a little bewildered by the subterranean 
gloom, into a lofty, brilliantly lighted hall. 
Here he found a horsy -looking little man, 
clad in a gorgeous uniform, with the addition 
of a small ornamental flower-pot on one side 


21 


of his head — Crane afterwards discovered that 
it was a fez — and a sword nearly as big as 
himself. By the time this gallant officer had 
reluctantly torn himself away from his cher- 
ished weapon Crane was ready to go up-stairs, 
and they were announced together. 

Crane’s companion was a Colonel Bobbins — 
evidently an Englishman. But what Colonel 
Bobbins was doing in Constantinople — in uni- 
form, at a private dinner-party, with a flower- 
pot on his head — it was somewhat difficult to 
understand. He seemed quite at home in it, 
however, and waddled up to Mrs. Brangwyn, 
his little bandy -legs curving outward like a 
hoop. t ^ 

“ Sir William and Miladi Plynlymmon, Mon- 
sieur le Comte Bardotti, Monsieur and Ma- 
dame Unwin, et Mademoiselle Oolverston,” 
were announced in quick succession by a 
Greek footman. A certain King -Midas and 
Pentley Kidge came together, a little later 
than the others. 

Crane took in Miss Ulverstone to dinner. 
When she turned round to him he saw a rather 
commonplace face attached to the body of an 
Aphrodite. Miss Ulverstone’s features were 
good, though thickened and blurred by her 
dull, muddy, and sallow skin. Her voice was 


22 


low and sweet, but full of plaintive sugges- 
tions at the hardness of fate, which had given 
her wealth, position, loveliness of form, and 
plain features. 

In spite of Miss Ulverstone’s plainness. Crane 
found lier very nice. Once Mrs. Brangw}^ 
glanced at him rather curiously, to see how he 
was getting on with his neighbor. She herself 
talked in Spanish to an eagle-nosed Mephisto- 
phelian man of about forty. 

That is Count Bardotti,” said Miss Ulver- 
stone. “He is a Carlist, and a brave man. 
Very indolent. As a Carlist he was a success ; 
then he had to fly. How that there is no 
flghting, he gambles. He generally does one 
or the other. Sometimes he flirts, just as you 
see.” 

“A melancholy Don Quixote?” 

“ Yes, with Colonel Bobbins for Sancho.” 

“ And Kosinante — where ? Bobbins a colo- 
nel! In what?” 

“ The Imperial Ottoman Gendarmerie. Gen- 
darmerie colonels wear uniform and walk 
about. Two or three of them are employed. 
The Government is compelled to have them, 
and so it gets over the difiiculty by not giving 
them any work. Tomkins Pasha is another 
of these ofiicers. He is one of the bravest and 


23 


best soldiers in the world, and is greatly appre- 
ciated here ; but the Government will not let 
him reform things. He is a friend of the 
Plynlymmons. How he is out at the fortifica- 
tions.” 

“ Which are the Plynlymmons 

“ The thin people — the man is opposite his 
wife. They are always placed opposite to each 
other ; otherwise they look so meagre. People 
feel uncomfortable unless they are separated.” 

‘‘ And Mr. and Mrs. Unwin ?” 

“ They are my guardians. We shall remain 
here until next winter. Don’t you think Mrs. 
Brangwyn very lovely ? I am aware that it is 
not usual to discuss the merits or demerits of 
one’s hostess, but it is the custom in Constan- 
tinople. I think Mrs. Brangwyn exquisitely 
beautiful.” 

Oh, if it is the custom, I agree with you. 
She is very handsome,” Crane said, enthusi- 
astically ; “ and so original.” 

Miss Ulverstone rather demurred to this. 
All plain women pride themselves on their 
originality ; that is why they are so common- 
place. 

“ I don’t think she and I will ever be very 
intimate.” 

Why not ?” 


24 


“ There’s a certain hardness about her which, 
perhaps, only a woman can distinguish. Then, 
she is fond of experiments.” 

‘‘ So am I,” said Crane. 

“ Ah, but they are dangerous. She has an 
excess of sympathy which sometimes misleads 
people, and — herself. But I ought not to dis- 
cuss my hostess, even in obedience to local 
custom. My fan ? Thank you.” And Miss 
XJlverstone rustled off in a way which showed 
that she did not altogether approve of Crane, 
or of her own somewhat ill-advised outspoken- 
ness. 

“ Won’t you come along here ?” asked 
Bentley Kidge. “ Bobbins is getting up some 
races ; he wants you to join.” 

To begin with, I haven’t a horse,” said 
Crane. I don’t ride, and I’m too heavy.” 

“ Mare — just the weight — time to begin — 
have to ride here,” muttered the little warrior. 

“ Ah, you don’t understand our races,” said 
Bentley Kidge. “ There are generally two 
elements concerned — the naval and the mili- 
tary. An enthusiastic lover of the sport hires 
his horse for the day, rides him to the course, 
races him, and then rides back again. The 
horses like it — if they live ; the riders like it — 
if they get over it ; and the spectators like 


25 


it — if they are not run over. Bobbins orig^ 
inated the system; we think it worthy of 
him, and he generally wins. I can lend you 
a horse on which to experiment. I seldom 
ride, and he’s too fresh for a light-weight.” 

“ Many thanks. I’ll see Colonel Bobbins in 
the saddle first. I couldn’t sit a horse prop- 
erly to save my life.” 

“ Too late for this year. Bobbins,” said 
Bentley Kidge. ‘‘ Better leave it till the 
spring.” 

Bobbins swallowed another bumper of port, 
and grunted a reluctant acquiescence as he 
turned to King-Midas. 

“ Your book, Armenian Question^ slated by 
the Coliseum snapped the little colonel, who 
possessed the by no means rare talent of al- 
ways saying things in the wrong place and 
to the wrong person. 

“Yes,” answered King-Midas, a wealthy 
politician of the aggressive type, “the Coli- 
seum people did slate it, certainly; so I 
wrote and suggested they should take for 
their motto an extract from Sterne’s Let- 
ters from FranceP 

“ Who’s he said Bobbins. “ Sterne ? 
ISTever heard of him. What’s his regiment 

“ This is it,” said King-Midas, hoping to get 


26 


credit for something original. “ ‘As we rode 
along the valley we saw a herd of asses on 
the top of one of the mountains. How they 
viewed us and reviewed us P ” 

“ Whispering one to the other,” said Plyn- 
lymmon, in an audible aside, “‘King-Midas 
has asses’ ears.’ ” 

King -Midas continued to crack walnuts 
with a placid unconsciousness which provoked 
Crane’s admiration. 

“ Don’t be alarmed at Plynlymmon’s mo- 
mentary brilliancy,” said Pentley Kidge to 
Crane ; “ they’ve probably arranged it between 
them. I don’t suppose the reviewers will 
mind ; they’re used to the pleasant little ways 
of disappointed authors — particularly the fem- 
inine ones.” 

The men began to talk politics, and to con- 
tradict each other with the usual intolerance 
for any views but their own, which is the 
badge of all politicians. When they rejoined 
the ladies Crane strolled disconsolately round 
the room, looking for Mrs. Prang wyn. Not 
seeing her, he sat down in a dusky little recess, 
just as Lady Plynlymmon, with thin and 
quivering notes, stated her conviction to a 
friend that some day or other she would meet 
somebody, she knew not when or why, but 


27 


that under any circumstances she would not 
be trifled with, and the interview must take 
place. 

“ It is most unsatisfactory,” Crane discon- 
tentedly murmured. “ Why doesn’t she give 
me a word ? What have I done ? She must 
have a reason ; women never do anything 
without a reason, even though they don’t 
know it themselves.” 

You are quite right and Mrs. Brangwyn 
entered the recess. ‘‘Has Miss Ulverstone 
made so great an impression on you already?” 

“ Ah,” he said, sadly, “ you know very well 
she only serves as a foil to you.” 

Mrs. Brangwyn affected sudden anger. 
“ You dare to question my actions already, 
Mr. Crane ! If you do so now you will be- 
come intolerable later.” 

Lady Plynlymmon reiterated her determina- 
tion to procure an interview with some obdu- 
rate swain who, with characteristic rudeness, 
or wisdom, declined to come forward. The 
matter was really pressing. He had kept her 
waiting for years, and she declined to put up 
with such treatment any longer. There was 
a threat in her voice that if the missing indi- 
vidual did not bring matters to a head, her 
family solicitors would soon make him do so. 


28 


“ I don’t question your actions,” Crane said. 
“ I’m only disappointed ; that’s all. I thought 
you too generous to seek a contrast with any 
one else, and yet — ” 

Well?” 

“ Perhaps you had a reason ?” 

“ I had, my poor boy. Don’t you know 
that you are playing with edged tools? You 
are so blind. I wanted you to see the contrast 
between Miss Ulverstone and myself. Tear 
yourself away from here, go anywhere, do 
anything rather than stay. Keturn to Eng- 
land ; forget you ever left it.” 

“ I don’t understand.” Crane put his hand 
to his forehead confusedly. 

That is why I warn you, poor child ! You 
see how ugly Miss Ulverstone is, and how fair 
I look beside her. Yet she would not change ; 
whereas I am fickleness itself. I should grow 
tired of — of the esteem you have for me. We 
have played this little quarter-of-an-hour com- 
edy long enough. You cannot say I haven’t 
warned you. Let us ring down the curtain, 
and end it.” 

The lad fiushed as he timidly took the hand- 
some widow’s hand. 

‘‘ I only know I honor you above all women. 
Others may misjudge you, but I never will. 


29 


Through good report and through evil report 
I ask your friendship. It’s the light of my 
life. What harm can there be in it for either 
of us ?” 

‘‘It will be dangerous for you — very dan- 
gerous,” murmured Mrs. Brangwyn, in tones 
which intimated that she did not wish to lose 
sight of the lad. “ Mr. Crane, we have been 
very foolish — excessively foolish. Be a good 
boy. Go away to Tomkins Pasha to-morrow 
morning, and forget me.” 

“ Why bother about Tomkins ?” 

“ For several reasons. You are his secre- 
tary. If people see you staying on here with- 
out any ostensible reason they will talk.” 

“ Shallow fools !” 

“ Ah, but shallow waters babble louder than 
deep ones. Come, my guests will wonder why 
I neglect them so much. Mr. Crane,” she con- 
tinued, “ you are not to be foolish any more. 
]Srever again, mind, on pain of my sovereign 
displeasure.” 

“ 1^0 , 1 will not be foolish any more.” 

She seemed disappointed until all the mad 
impetuosity of twenty-one showed in his eyes 
and told her his meaning. “ It would be fool- 
ish,” the look suggested, “ not to love you.” 

“ You — you must let me be a dear sister to 


30 


you,” she whispered; and for a brief second 
pressed her glowing lips to his. She had 
dropped her handkerchief before she floated 
aAvay; Tomalyn unhesitatingly stole it. All 
night long he hugged it to his breast, pacing 
the room with martial strides. Ah, if he were 
only a hero like Tomkins Pasha perhaps she 
would not scoff at his youth and want to be 
his sister ! Sister ? Pshaw ! 

At dawn he stumbled drowsily to an arm- 
chair, and fell into a troubled sleep until it 
was time to snatch a hurried breakfast. There 
would be a train at seven o’clock for ITakatch- 
keui, a few miles beyond San Stefano. It was 
at Hakatchkeui that Tomkins Pasha reigned 
supreme, while contriving a wondrous series 
of earthworks into which his imperial master, 
the Sultan, would never have sufficient energy 
to put the necessary guns. Crane had sent 
Tomkins Pasha a telegram the day before to 
say that he was coming; but Tomkins Pasha 
had not replied with words of welcome. Per- 
haps the great man was busy and could not 
spare the time. 

Soothed by this reflection. Crane looked at 
his riding things, and wondered whether he 
had put them on correctly. Shame had pre- 
vented him from confessing to Bobbins that 


31 


in all his days he had never ridden anything 
more fiery than a bicycle. The reason for this 
was that his father had been thrown from his 
horse in the hunting-field and killed on the 
spot. Hence, Mrs. Crane had determined that 
her son should never be allowed to mount a 
horse. How he bitterly regretted this fact, and 
wished that he had taken a few riding-lessons 
before leaving London. Still, he would bestride 
a camel, if need be, rather than disgrace him- 
self in the eyes of Tomkins Pasha. 

At the station the rascally interpreter, who 
had stuck to him like a leech since yesterday, 
presented an extortionate bill of eighty francs. 
Crane paid it with the most lamb-like in- 
nocence, whereupon the rogue demanded an- 
other twenty. He was greatly surprised when 
Tomalyn descended upon him in wrath, smote 
him, Ajax -like, upon the nose, and kicked 
him out of the station. The moral effect, as 
well as the physical, was very great. He re- 
spected Tomalyn immensely forever after, and 
boasted that he had been kicked by a real 
English lord. Tomalyn, too, felt better ; for 
the rascal was considerably stronger than 
himself. 

The rapid discovery of the immense superi- 
ority of English railway methods over Turkish 


32 


ones helped still further to restore Toraalyn 
Crane’s self-respect. The distance to Nakatch- 
keui was only seventeen miles, but the train 
took an hour and three-quarters in which to 
accomplish the journey. He found out after- 
wards that the contractors for the line had 
been paid by the mile. That was the reason 
why they made it wind in and out and play 
hide-and-seek with the suburbs until it 
seemed to the bewildered youth that he 
would never leave Constantinople at all. But 
at last, with an heroic effort, the train made 
a leisurely start for the open country, and tore- 
itself away from the town. 

Crane’s heart sank when the station for 
Hakatchkeui appeared in sight, and the driver, 
stoker, and guard sat down on the engine to 
smoke cigarettes after their prolonged strug- 
gles to get the train along. Two or three 
miserable wooden sheds did duty for a station ; 
a few Turkish soldiers, with ragged uniforms, 
loafed about in a sea of mud ; and ten or 
twelve pack-horses placidly chewed at the few 
creepers which decorated the station-master’s 
house. A little beyond the station stood a tiny 
Turkish village, its one minaret rising grace- 
fully through the surrounding plane-trees. 

Crane looked at his daintily polished boots 


33 


and sighed. Where, oh where, was Tomkins 
Pasha? Military etiquette would, of course, 
prevent the great man from coming to meet 
him; but he might have made arrangements 
worthy of the occasion. 

A very handsome officer, wearing the cus- 
tomary little red flower-pot on one side of his 
head, and riding a beautiful gray charger, sud- 
denly dashed into the station, followed by a 
somewhat imposing escort. Here he hurriedly 
dismounted, flung his reins to a trooper, and 
began to search the carriages. 

Crane heaved a sigh of relief. ‘‘Pm not 
forgotten, after all; Tomkins has sent that 
fellow to look after me. There’s a led horse. 
Good heavens, it’s as big as a house! How 
the dickens am I going to get on that 
thing?” 

The officer looked into his carriage and 
passed on. Then he returned. 

“Haw — beg pardon — haw,” he said, with 
the unmistakable drawl of a Piccadilly loung- 
er. “ Have you — eh ? — seen Colonel Tomkins 
in the train? Tomkins Pasha’s brother, you 
know.” 

Crane bowed. “Ho; Pm afraid I haven’t. 
Can you tell me how to get to Tomkins 
Pasha ? I’m his new secretary.” 

3 


34 


“ W-what ? Then Colonel Tomkins isn’t 
coming f ’ 

I don’t know anything about Colonel Tom- 
kins. I want Tomkins Pasha.” 

Did you — haw — send the telegram ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then Colonel Tomkins isn’t here?” said 
the ofi&cer, mournfully. 

“Not unless he’s under the seat. Never 
heard of him.” 

The officer reflected. “ You’d better come 
along, then. It’s hard upon me, when I had 
been expecting Tomkins.” 

Crane came to the carriage window. 
“Would you mind looking after my things?” 
he asked, with an innocent ignorance of mili- 
tary etiquette. “ I don’t know enough Turkish 
to get them out of the train.” 

The officer became purple. “ See — haw — to 
the damned things yourself,” he said, turning 
on his heel. Presently, however, good-nature 
conquered his pride of place. “P’raps you 
don’t know who I am ?” 

“ I don’t want to know,” said Crane, with 
youthful anger. “ You’ve commenced by 
damning my things. You’ll want to treat me 
in the same way next, and then there’ll be a 
row.” 


I 


35 


‘‘ I like rows/’ said the officer ; “ but you’re 
too small. Tchaoush, get those — ” He broke 
off into Turkish, and gave a few brief direc- 
tions to an active sergeant in rags. D’you 
know what you’ve done f ’ he asked Crane. 

‘‘ Ho.” 

“ Well, you’ve made me turn out of bed, 
hunt up an escort, borrow the chief’s best 
charger, and come down here to this God- 
forsaken place, at this God-forsaken hour, 
thinking that you were the Pasha’s brother. 
If you’d been chief of the staff I couldn’t have 
done more for you.” 

« I’m very sorry. The telegraph people 
must have mixed up things. But you haven’t 
told me who you are. You must be some- 
body, or you wouldn’t dare to damn my 
things.” 

“I’m Hawtrey Bey — Colonel Hawtrey 
;Bey — Devonshire Hawtreys,” said the other, 
stiffly. 

“Thanks. And I’m one of the Cranes — 
Secretary Tomalyn Crane— the Devonshire 
Cranes,” returned Tomalyn. “ You won’t see 
a fellow-countryman choked in this mud?” 
he asked, appealingly. 

Hawtrey Bey reffected. “ Your things are 
all right. Come on.” He looked at Crane’s 


36 


boots with quick, contemptuous scrutiny. 

Ever been outside a horse before V’ 

‘‘No. Whjr 

Hawtrey Bey said a few words to the 
Tchaoush, who salaamed, took hold of Crane’s 
boots, and reversed the spurs. Tomalyn had 
put them on upsidedown. 

Having thus publicly humiliated his fellow- 
countryman, Hawtrey Bey felt relieved ; then 
condescended to remark that, perhaps, it 
would be better to take the spurs off alto- 
gether, as the chief’s charger wouldn’t stand 
any nonsense. 

“ Shall I walk forlornly suggested Crane. 

“ If you’re afraid,” answered Hawtre}^ Bey, 
curling his magnificent mustache. 

Crane looked at the mud. “ How far is it — 
ten miles?” 

“ Eleven.” 

“ I’ll ride, though I break my neck.” 

“ Come on, then.” And Hawtrey swaggered 
away to the horses, his sword clanking in a 
manner which filled Crane’s soul with envy. 

Tomkins Pasha’s favorite charger was a 
huge Kussian gray nearly seventeen hands 
high. 

“ I can’t swarm up by the brute’s tail,” said 
Crane, ruefully. 


37 


Hawtrey Bey made a sign to the sergeant ; 
whereupon that obsequious being went down 
on all fours by the side of the horse, and 
spread out his own broad back for Crane to 
stand on. 

‘‘ Mount !” Hawtrey Bey sternly com- 
manded. 

Crane mounted by means of this human 
platform, and forlornly threw his legs round 
the charger’s huge barrel. The gray gave 
one sleepy glance at him, and moved off with 
long strides, throwing up his head impa- 
tiently, and nearly hitting Crane with it as 
the lad gathered the reins in a bundle and 
committed himself to the care of the gods. 

“ Don’t ride him on the curb,” said Haw- 
trey Bey; ‘‘the beggar won’t stand it.” 

He had hoped to make Crane ask which 
was the curb; but the lad stole a quick glance 
at Hawtrey’s horse, rearranged the reins, and 
began to feel better. 

“If you’re all right, we’ll trot,” grunted 
Hawtrey. 

And they trotted, Crane feeling like a tom- 
tit on a haystack, as the gray lunged forward 
with gigantic strides, which sent the mud 
flying. After a short time Tomalyn’s grip 
weakened, and the gray played shuttlecock 


38 


with him. Ten minutes of this torture satis- 
fied Hawtrey, who conceived that by this 
time he had sufficiently asserted his own dig- 
nity, and he signalled to Crane to pull up the 
gray into a walk. 

In about an hour they arrived at the little 
village of Hakatchkeui, a collection of pret- 
tily built wooden houses clustered round a 
me’idan, or open, grass-grown, irregular space, 
shaded by acacias and planes. In the middle 
of the meidan stood the public pump and a 
stone mortar for the corn-crushers. At one 
side of it, by the mosque, were a raised, oblong 
stone slab, on which coffins were rested, and 
a horse-trough and fountain, the latter in- 
tended for the ablutions of the faithful before 
they entered the mosque. The best house on 
the meidan had been allotted to Tomkins 
Pasha. It was surrounded by a walled court- 
yard, and bristled with sentries, who, although 
mostly asleep, roused themselves sufficiently 
to present arms as Hawtrey rode in and 
clanked away to his room. The obsequious 
Tchaoush again proffered his broad back for 
Crane to stand on. Tomalyn’s strained legs 
could scarcely bear his weight, and he land- 
ed in the arms of Tomkins Pasha’s servant, 
who, with the dragoman, a thick - lipped, oily, 


39 


sensual -looking, black -haired Armenian, with 
a neck like a bull, awaited him at the en- 
trance. 

“ I see you ain’t used to these ’osses, sir,” 
said Smith, the servant. “ They ain’t got no 
action, they ain’t, these Kooshians. That big 
beast’s done his best to chuck me more’n once, 
just acause I ain’t a Kooshian. If I was 
called ‘ Smithoffsky,’ he’d be quite civil, the 
brute.” 

“ His Excellency is not back from the forts 
yet,” said Kourrian, the dragoman ; “ but he 
sent over a messenger to say that he expected 
the Kyatib Effendi (Mr. Secretary) just after 
the Colonel had started. I will give myself 
the happiness to go and see to your things.” 

Don’t you take no stock in that chap, sir,” 
said Smith, as the dragoman bustled away. 

He got the message about you afore Colonel 
Hawtrey started, only he ’ates the Colonel, 
and wanted to give him a rare doing through 
the mud. He’s a slippery cove, he is, sir; but 
his own photograph won’t know him if the 
Colonel finds it out.” 

Crane followed Smith up the narrow 
wooden stairs. 

“Here’s the only spare room we’ve got, 
sir,” said Smith, throwing open the door of 


40 


an empty room, ten feet by ten. s’pose 
your bed and things is coming along V’ 

“ Bed ? ISTo ; I didn’t think of bringing a 
. bed.” 

“l!Tor no wash-stand, nor folding-chair, nor 
nothing, sir?” Smith was dismayed. “Well, 
you can’t get anything ’ere. If I asks these 
pore ignorant furriners in their own langwidge 
to fetch me some water they can’t understand, 
and I speak it pretty well, too, sir. (This 
Crane afterwards found to be a rooted delusion 
on Smith’s part.) “ You just come into the 
Pasha’s room, sir, and I’ll get you some lunch. 
You’ll want it after flying all over that gray 
devil.” 

Smith produced a very satisfactory luncheon 
and a bottle of embrocation, the latter for 
external application only. 

“ You take my advice, sir,” he said, earnestly. 
“Maybe you’ve lost leather and it’ll hurt, but 
you have the black pony out to-morrow, and 
sling him round a bit till the stiffness wears 
off. You’ll swear a good deal for the first 
’arf hour, but it’s the only way.” 

After lunch the indefatigable Smith, who 
seemed to have taken a great fancy to Crane, 
went into the village, and returned with an 
old door and a thick quilt. 


41 


These ’ll do for a bed, sir,” he said, cheer- 
fully, bustling about. “I’ll get a couple of 
wine-boxes, lay the door on ’em, put the quilt 
on that, and lend you some rugs, with your 
dressing-case for a pillow. When you knows 
the langwidge as well as I do, sir, and wants 
anything, you just go into the village and get 
it. The old chap who yells out from the top 
of the minaret every morning’s quite a pal of 
mine. Comes in here for a taste of my shag ; 
he don’t find no fiavior in Turkish baccy since 
I eddicated him up to shag.” 

Crane would not have felt so grateful to 
Smith had he known that his method of pro- 
cedure consisted in walking into the nearest 
house, picking up what he wanted, saying 
“Tomkins Pasha” in loud tones, and then 
bearing off his spoil with the full conviction 
that he had made all necessary explanations. 
At dusk Tomkins Pasha arrived — a stout, 
quiet-mannered man of fifty, with the air of 
one accustomed to command. He greeted 
Crane very kindly, hoped that Smith had 
made him comfortable, told him to pick out 
a soldier-servant, and then wished him good- 
evening. 

“ The Pasha always dines in his own room, 
sir,” said the voluble Smith, as he brought 


42 


Crane his dinner. “ Colonel ’Awtrey dines in 
his room, sir ; and as for them greedy Turkish 
beggars on the staff, God alone knows when 
and where they dines, or whether they ever 
has any grub of their own at all, sir. If 
you ’ears a row on the roof to-night, don’t be 
frightened. It’s only a hold stork as rattles 
his beak because it’s his cussed way. I’ll pick 
you out one of these slack-baked dummies 
they calls a soldier to-morrow, sir, and ed- 
dicate him up to looking after you. And if 
that there Harmenian tries any of his ’anky- 
panky, you just down him, sir ; that’s what 
he wants. ' One in the bread-basket ’ll do him 
proper.” 

Presently Smith bustled in with a light. 
“ Here’s a good old English ’orn lantern, sir. 
Makes me think of the waits and mulled gin 
with a dash of red-hot poker in it, it does. 
And I’ve brought you my black cat, Polly 
Wheedles — called after one of my young 
women, sir — to keep you comp’ny. She’s real 
English, she is, and behaves as such. Won’t 
have nothing to do with them nasty Turkish 
cats, she won’t.” And Smith bustled away, 
leaving Crane filled with gratitude for so 
much delicate kindness. 


CHAPTER III 


KOUERIAN DRAWS “ FIRST BLOOD ” 

Crane woke up once or twice during the 
night, under the impression that some one 
was dropping a cart-load of bricks on his 
head through the roof. It was not until he 
remembered Smith’s warning about the stork 
that he recognized the origin of the disturb- 
ance. There were no curtains to his windows, 
so that the first rays of the morning sun 
smote him on the nose, and prevented him 
from sleeping any longer. He lay for a few 
minutes indolently wondering whether he had 
better get up. Presently the door opened, 
and a broad, brown, grinning visage cautiously 
thrust itself through the aperture. The face 
was followed by an arm, and then a body, as 
the intruder made a military salute and ut- 
tered the word Halil ” in low, musical tones, 
pointing, at the same time, to his breast. 

Crane got his Turkish dictionary from un- 
der the pillow. Ho; he could not find any- 


44 


thing in it about “ Halil.” Then it occurred 
to him that this was a candidate for the post 
of servant, whq had stolen a march upon the 
other soldiers. Crane liked the fellow’s face, 
and nodded affably. 

“ Halil he asked. 

The huge fellow bowed his forehead to the 
ground, and poured out a flood of Turkish. 

Crane motioned to him to get up. Halil 
rose, left the room, and returned with a bra- 
zier of burning charcoal and two little cop- 
per coffee-pots. When the coffee boiled in 
one pot, he poured it into the other. Then 
he went out again, and came back with an 
egg-cup, filled it with delicious coffee, and 
watched Crane with childish delight. 

Crane drank the coffee, pointed to his boots, 
and made vigorous signs that he wanted them 
brushed. Halil nodded, seized the boots, and 
disappeared. 

Smith came in presently to invite Crane to 
breakfast with the Pasha. 

‘‘I see that there ’Alil’s froze on to you, 
sir,” he said. “ He’s a big innocent, he is, but 
as straight as they make ’em. He don’t love 
that dragoman, neither. You mark my words 
if Kourrian doesn’t try to work him out of 
here in no time.” 


45 


“ All right, Smith,’’ said Crane ; it’s 
enough for me if you say the fellow’s 
straight.” 

“He’s a good deal straighter than that 
t’other chap,” grumbled Smith, busily un- 
packing Crane’s things. “That there drago- 
man ’s as crooked as Damascus, and smells 
much about the same. If he hadn’t got drunk 
last night, he’d have been here afore now 
with some beauty he wants to spy on you. 
You just wait and see, sir. He knows you’ll 
keep an eye on his accounts.” 

At this moment the thick-lipped dragoman 
put his head inside the door. 

“ I have come to wish you good-morning, 
sir,” he said, suavely ; “ and to hope that you 
have slept well.” 

“You speak very good English,” observed 
Crane, feeling that he ought to be civil to the 
fellow. 

“ I was educated at Kobert College by the 
Americans,” said the dragoman, with a bow. 
“Some day I intend to enter the ministry, 
and preach the gospel to my poor deluded 
Armenian brethren.” 

“ They’d soon be a precious deal poorer if 
you’d anything to do with ’em,” grumbled 
Smith, busily arranging Crane’s things to the 


46 


best advantage. “ Why, sir, he’s got a stiff ’kit 
from that there college as ’ud make any Eng- 
glish jury give him six months straight off, 
when they saw the difference ’tween him 
and it.” 

“ The good Smith is always so very funny 
when he has a headache,” said Kourrian, 
blandly; “and he always — oh yes — he al- 
wa3^s has a headache in the morning. I have 
brought you a servant, sir. Swift as a gazelle, 
stronger than the Prophet’s dromedary, the 
grass grows not beneath his feet, neither does 
he loiter by the — ” 

“ That’ll do,” said Smith, irreverently. 
“ Stow your gab. I knew as much. Who’s 
the slab-sided slouch you’ve got there ?” 

Kourrian motioned his one-eyed satellite to 
enter. 

“ Just what I thought,” said Smith to the 
satellite. Haidee-git! (be off!) Hook it! 
We ain’t got no use for you here.” 

“ The Kyatib Effendi needs a servant, not 
the great Smith Pasha,” snarled Kourrian, 
venomously. 

“ Don’t you swallow none of his sauce, sir,” 
chuckled Smith. “Why, only yesterday I 
caught that fellow” — pointing to the one- 
eyed man — “ stealing our charcoal.” 


47 


‘‘ If you like not this most trustworthy man, 
sir,” said the dragoman, “ I am very sorry ; I 
promised him the place.” 

How much 'bakshish did you get for doing 
it ?” interposed Smith. “Yah? Get out! you 
make me sick, you and your one-eyed soldier, 
there. Mr. Crane ’s picked out Halil, and I’m 
eddicating him up to it.” 

“ Ah, sir, when the good Smith has a head- 
ache he does very rash things,” insinuated 
Kourrian. “ And at this time of the morn- 
ing” — he shrugged his shoulders pityingly — 
“the good Smith’s headache is very bad — 
what is called in England ‘hot-coppery.’ ” 

“ I’ll hot-copper you some day with a flat- 
iron, my beauty,” retorted “ the good Smith,” 
who did not at all relish Kourrian’s allusions 
to his midnight potations. 

“ That will do,” said Crane. “ I’ve chosen 
Halil.” 

“ It is a pit — ” began Kourrian. 

“ Oh yes, a great pity, ain’t it, we can’t 
choose a servant without your permission?” 
Smith bitingly remarked. “ You dry up. 
Decency’s decency all the world over, ’cept in 
Armenia; and as Mr. Crane’s going to dress, 
you might find the outer air refreshing. 
Clear out !” 


48 


Kourrian bowed down before Crane, and 
withdrew with an angry light in his eyes. 

‘‘ You get his accounts, sir, to-day,” sug- 
gested Smith. “The Pasha wants you to look 
after things. That there Kourrian ’s been 
making a fortune out of us. We’ll all be 
poisoned afore we know it, if we don’t look 
out. Oh, here’s a letter for you, sir. Come 
out with the Pasha’s post-bag, it did.” 

Crane recognized Mrs. Wyville Pains’s spi- 
dery handwriting. 

“ It’s a dinner invitation for next Friday,” 
said he. “ How am I to get away from here ?” 

“ Oh,” we goes into town every Thursday 
afternoon, and comes out again Saturday 
morning,” Smith explained. “ You write your 
answer, sir, and I’ll send it in with the Pasha’s 
letters. But it’s time I called the Pasha. 
Here, you, Halil, su-su. Water, you igno- 
rant beggar ! Don’t you know your own lan- 
gwidge ?” 

Halil came in with a brass basin, and held 
it while Crane washed. Smith had promised 
to make Halil get his bath ready in future. 
Presently Crane wanted his boots. After 
vainly endeavoring to make Halil understand, 
he took up his Turkish dictionary, and uttered 
the word “ tcJmmahr 


49 


Halil fled with a yell of terror. It seemed 
to him witchcraft. Whenever he got near the 
little book after this, he always sidled uneas- 
ily round it. Later on, Crane wanted some- 
thing else, and took up the Turkish dictionary 
again ; whereupon Halil incontinently bolted, 
and returned with some one else’s boots. 

“ You’d better not come with me round the 
forts, Mr. Crane,” Tomkins Pasha observed 
after breakfast. The Turks wouldn’t like a 
civilian to know anything about their earth- 
works.” 

Crane flushed. ‘‘ I assure you, sir, that my 
ignorance on the subject is profound.” 

Tomkins Pasha smiled inscrutably. “ That 
is where the mischief might come in. If you 
understood all about them, you would not be 
here.” 

Crane bowed. “I suppose I can go about 
the country when you don’t want me, sir ?” 

“ Oh, certainly. Take this revolver with 
you, in case of accidents, and don’t get too far 
away. In the meantime, just look round for 
a day or two and straighten out that fellow 
Kourrian. You’ll find him a tough handful, 
but he was fastened on to me by the Fortifica- 
tion Commissioners, and I can’t get rid of 
him. Besides, the scoundrel is so useful. In 

4 


50 


a few days we’ll start the book I’m prepar- 
ing.” 

Crane watched his chief, as he clanked 
down to the courtyard, with a feeling of 
envy. Tomkins Pasha mounted the great 
charger which had made his secretary so stiff 
the day before. As the Pasha rode ahead of 
the glittering staff. Crane admired his sol- 
dierly bearing and the gray’s elastic step. 
The Turkish officers bestrode showy Arabs, 
while Ilawtrey Bey appeared on a fiery Turk- 
oman, which bit and plunged and squealed 
without disturbing his passive rider for an 
instant. As the last man left the court- 
yard the sentries carefully placed their rifles 
against the wall and went to sleep in the 
blazing sun. That was their idea of sentry 
duty when the Tchaoush played dominoes 
with the Greek cook, and was too lazy to look 
after them. 

“It’s about time I did something to earn 
my salary,” thought Crane. “ Smith, where 
are you ?” 

But the oily Kourrian appeared in place of 
Smith. “ He has just slipped off to the vil- 
lage, Effendi, for some more raki. The good 
Smith is always so thirsty in the morning.” 

“ Oh, very well,” said Crane, indifferently. 


51 


“ Order me a horse presently. We’ll go into 
those accounts of yours now.” 

Kourrian bowed down to the ground. 

The accounts, sir, are not quite ready — they 
will be so in an hour ; and it is a beautiful 
morning for a ride. If your Excellency does 
not work the stiffness off now, you will be 
lame for a week.” 

Crane smiled grimly. “ Yery well, then; I 
shall be back in an hour. Just teU them to 
get me a quiet horse.” 

Effendi, I myself will have the honor of 
bringing you a horse,” said Kourrian, his 
malevolent grin filling Crane with misgivings. 

Did the fellow dare laugh at him? Wait 
until they came to the accounts. It would 
then be some one else’s turn to laugh. Half 
an hour’s ride might work off the stiffness 
caused by the big gray. Meantime it was 
slow torture to hobble about. 

But when Kourrian appeared in the court- 
yard, obsequiously leading a sleepy - looking, 
old, flea - bitten gray charger. Crane felt 
ashamed of his suspicions, and patted the 
quiet beast on the nose, quite unaware that 
Kourrian was holding on to the bit with a 
grip of iron. 

‘‘ Doesn’t take much notice of me,” said 


52 


Crane, gingerly -stepping on to the block. “ Is 
he as quiet as he looks 

“ So quiet that he sometimes walks in his 
sleep, Effendi. He hasn’t the happiness of 
knowing your Excellency, or he would dance 
with joy at your condescending to ride 
him. It is the custom to mount horses 
quickly in this country. They don’t like 
standing.” 

Crane swung his leg over the gray with a 
groan; for the ride of the day before had 
stretched every muscle in his body. As he 
did so Halil ran from the stables and caught 
hold of his foot, pouring out a flood of Turk- 
ish, and turning his palms beseechingly up- 
ward. 

“What does he say?” impatiently asked 
Crane, as the “quiet” gray lashed out and 
sent Halil flying. 

“ Oh, nothing, nothing, Effendi. This is a 
gentleman’s horse, and he does not like com- 
mon soldiers. See how quiet he is with a 
gentleman on his back! I will lead him 
through the gateway.” 

Halil lay on his back in the centre of the 
yard, one hand affectionately rubbing the pit 
of his stomach. He faintly uttered something 
which sounded like “ Inshallah ” ; and, sitting 


53 


up, began to pat the afflicted part with great 
vigor. 

“ See, Effendi, what a cosoum (a lamb) he 
is,” continued Kourrian, suavely. If you 
go up the lane you will come to the open 
ground ; and, Mashallah, there is a beautiful 
hill to gallop up !” 

Kourrian led ‘‘ The Lamb ” until they came 
to some shirts which were spread out to dry 
on a thick telegraph-wire stretched across the 
narrow lane from wall to wall. The wire was 
a little above the height of an ordinary horse, 
and Crane was compelled to bend to his 
saddle-bow to clear it. He looked round for a 
moment when he reached the top of the lane, 
and saw that Kourrian was fumbling with one 
end of the wire. 

“What’s the fellow after now, I wonder?” 
he said, feeling that perhaps it would be 
wiser, after all, to stop at home and settle the 
accounts. 

But a stork, which had not yet departed for 
Egypt, gravely challenged his attention, with 
its absurd resemblance to a favorite old waiter 
at the Criterion. A little beyond the stork 
he met a lamb dyed pink, mournfully eying a 
similarly afflicted rooster. 

Once on the upland Crane began to en- 


54 


joy the softly undulating hills, and saw at a 
glance that an enemy capturing the bottom 
forts could be shelled out from above in five 
minutes. A hill to the left was dotted with 
white tents, where rival buglers called to each 
other from point to point. Presently the 
gray nearly trod on a tortoise, and seemed an- 
noyed by the whirring wings of the larks as 
they got out of the way. In spite of his stiff- 
ness, Crane began to enjoy the delicious air, 
and to wish, with youthful conceit, that Mrs. 
Brangwyn could see the ease with which he 
bestrode this colossal steed. What a pity the 
brute had not a little more spirit ! He touched 
its fiank lightly with his spurred heel, and, 
the next moment, found that he had mis- 
judged “ The Lamb ” ; for that noble animal 
was standing on his hind-legs, viciously paw- 
ing the air. Crane, though knowing noth- 
ing about horses, had the good sense not to 
pull “ The Lamb ” backward, but grabbed his 
mane, and held on with a muttered anathema 
against Kourrian for selecting so deceptive a 
steed. 

The next moment the gray dropped down 
to earth again, wheeled round, and tore back 
towards the village with the velocity of an ex- 
press train. Crane dug his knees into “The 


55 


Lamb’s” sides, and sat erect, feeling that 
there was nothing like experience for ac- 
quiring a good seat. The gray had a mouth 
of iron, and raced along with a peculiarly ir- 
ritating grunt of triumph.” 

“ It doesn’t matter,” thought Crane. “ This 
is jolly. Why didn’t they put me on a horse 
when I was a youngster? If I can sit this 
beast back to the house I can ride anything. 
Go on, and be hanged to you, you leather- 
mouthed brute ! Wonder whether you’ll try 
to scrape me off at the gate ?” 

The gray genially grunted an affirmative 
as he flew up the narrow lane towards the 
house. Suddenly Crane felt sick with fear. 
He had no time to reason — even to think — as 
the gray bore down upon the wire stretched 
across the road. The wire was six inches 
lower than it had heen a qua/rter of an hour 
ago! If Tomalyn could not get under that 
wire in about three seconds, his place would 
be vacant in the house of Crane, his mother a 
childless widow. 

Whiz! whiz! Down he went flat on the 
gray’s neck. There was a horrid rending, 
scraping, screeching sound, a sensation as if a 
red-hot iron had been passed swiftly down his 
back ; and the gray stood at the horse-block. 


56 


quietly champing his hit, and apparently half 
asleep. 

‘‘Confound it!” said Crane, “that was a 
close shave 1 If the wire had been only half 
an inch lower it would have cut me in two. 
Now for Kourrian. I’m glad I didn’t drop 
my whip. It’s first blood to him, at any rate, 
the cowardly villain !” 

Kourrian ran down the steps with a cry of 
alarm and many protestations of thankfulness 
at Crane’s escape. 

“ Get off this son of Sheitan, your Excel- 
lency. Get off, and let me kill him,” he im- 
plored. 

Crane made the lash of his whip whistle 
unpleasantly close to Kourrian’s ear. 

“ I’ll settle your accounts presently, Kour- 
rian. Go up the lane and unfasten that wire.” 

“ But the Effendi’s coat is ripped open.” 

“Unfasten that wire!” shouted Crane. 
“ Don’t trifle with me, man, or I’ll flay you 
alive !” His fingers itched to get at the scoun- 
drel. 

Kourrian set off at a run, and had the wire 
down from the wall in half a minute. 

“Lead this brute out and shut the gate,” 
commanded Crane. 

Kourrian did so. 


67 


“ Now, you deceitful devil ” — Crane grimly 
apostrophized “ The Lamb ” — ‘‘ you may kill 
me if you can, but you’re going up that hill 
first.” 

Instead of ascending the hill, however, 
“The Lamb” went straight up on his hind- 
legs again, but was brought down with a 
well-directed blow from the loaded end of 
Crane’s whip. The next moment the spurs 
raked his sides, and he sped onward like a 
whirlwind. When he reached the hill -top 
Crane was half dead, but triumphant ; for he 
had bucketed the gray until that deceptive 
animal hadn’t an ounce left in him. 

“ Now we’ll go down again, my friend,” said 
the youngster. “We understand each other. 
It’s evident I sha’n’t share my father’s fate 
if I can tackle a brute like you. Still, I 
can’t help wishing I’d had a few riding-les- 
sons before I came out. For the son of a 
hunting man, I’m a regular duffer. Tchck, 
home you go !” 

Kourrian awaited Crane’s return with ashen 
face. 

“ Oh that I should have been so mistaken 
in this son of the devil !” he said. “ Take my 
arm, your Excellency; let me lead you to 
your room.” 


58 


Crane waved him away disdainfully, tot- 
tered up the stairs, and turned on the landing. 

If you don’t bring those accounts in three 
minutes, Kourrian, I’ll tell the Pasha you 
daren’t show them to me.” * 

For two hours, with the assistance of Smith, 
who had returned from the village. Crane kept 
Kourrian on the rack. At the end of that time 
the unhappy wretch was forced to disgorge 
forty-eight Turkish pounds in order to square 
the accounts. He handed over the money with 
piteous sighs and groans, and a thousand prot- 
estations that he was a ruined man ; that he 
had been robbed by his subordinates ; and that 
Heaven had punished him for not selecting 
Crane a more guileless horse. Then he went 
away, chuckling in his sleeve at having es- 
caped so easily. 

Some brandy. Quick, Smith, quick !” cried 
Crane, directly Kourrian had left the room. 

“ That infernal wire’s taken a strip of skin off 
my back all the way do — down — ” And he 
fell fainting in Smith’s arms. 

Smith swore a mighty oath as he brought 
the lad round. 

^Hf that there Harmenian manages to set- 
tle him. I’ll knife the brute myself, though I 
swings for it.” 


CHAPTER IV 


A YOUTHFUL FIKE-EATEK 

Crane soon made himself completely at 
home in IS'akatchkeui. It was astonishing how 
rapidly the somewhat immature youth hard- 
ened under the influence of strong passion. 
He had long since passed the reasoning stage 
with regard to Mrs. Brangwyn. The woman 
simply fascinated him. He could not analyze, 
or dissect, or find fault with her, for the reason 
that everything she did was so unexpected as 
to take him completely by surprise. Before 
he asked himself the meaning of her latest 
freak she had passed on to something else, 
with an inconsistency which was all the more 
delightful owing to its lack of premeditation. 
What with keeping a vigilant eye on the pec- 
cant Kourrian, writing out chapters of the 
Pasha’s new book, taking riding-lessons from 
Smith, who was an ex -hussar, and studying 
the topography of the surrounding country. 
Crane had plenty to occupy him. He did all 


60 


these things, and many others, with the in- 
ward conviction that Mrs. Brangwyn superin- 
tended his every action, that she never took 
her eyes from him, and that, above all, she dis- 
played an interest regarding military matters 
which was somewhat unusual and incompre- 
hensible in a woman who spent so much time 
in the study of Parisian fashions. But then 
she seemed to follow everything closely only 
for a little while, hlothing interested her 
ardent, impressionable nature for very long. 
She preferred the consciousness of vivid im- 
pressions, and then the passing on to some- 
thing else before their freshness waned. 
Whenever and wherever Crane met her she 
was surrounded by admirers. Men frequently 
quarrelled about the brilliant widow, and other 
w^omen spitefully said that Mrs. Brangwyn en- 
joyed the edat of such quarrels. Crane asked 
her, on the fourth Friday after his arrival in 
Constantinople, whether she expected all her 
knights to fight about her, and — here his re- 
marks became somewhat confused — lay scalps 
at her feet. 

Of course,” she said, with the silvery laugh 
which was one of her greatest charms. “ Most 
of my — my friends haven’t any scalps left ; 
they are too old. But what should I do with 


61 


them all if they did not fight? Natural se- 
lection weeds out a few, and I deal with the 
survivors. But men are far too cowardly to 
fight to the death about a woman nowa- 
days; they always shuffle out of it. That 
wretched little Colonel Bobbins goes about 
telling clumsy stories at my expense, and no 
one dares thrash him, because he is a dead 
shot.” 

Of course, nothing of all this was lost upon 
our youthful fire-eater. It seemed to him, with 
the blind, unreasoning chivalry and mad pas- 
sion of youth, that it did not much matter 
if Bobbins killed him, provided that Bobbins 
could be punished in some way. As chance 
would have it, Tomalyn dined at the Pera 
Club the same evening, and heard Colonel 
Bobbins criticise what he called Mrs. Brang- 
wyn’s “ points,” much in the same way as if she 
had been a horse. Crane was filled with burn- 
ing indignation. Bobbins, of course, did not 
mind being shot at ; but it seemed to Toraa- 
lyn that it would be doing Bobbins too much 
honor to make public the cause of the quar- 
rel. Taking a seat, therefore, at some little 
distance from the gallant colonel, he rolled up 
a bread pellet and dexterously flipped it at 
Bobbins’s somewhat prominent nose. 


62 


“A bull’s-eye first shot,” he said to a man 
at the next table. 

“ Confound your clumsiness, sir !” cried Bob- 
bins, starting up. “One would think you 
were still at school.” 

Crane deliberately prepared another pellet, 
and flicked it with even greater dexterity than 
before into Bobbins’s right eye. 

“ When I am clumsy it is generally with 
intention,” he said, coolly. 

The astonished Bobbins critically surveyed 
Crane through his eye-glass. 

“Bah! Do you want to pick a quarrel 
with me. Crane ? You ought to know better,” 
he said, good-naturedly. “You’re drunk, 
naughty little boy — wofully drunk. Co home 
to bed. My servant will see you to the 
hotel.” 

Crane deliberately flicked a third pellet at 
Bobbins. 

“ Upon my word. Colonel Bobbins, you are 
the dullest man to take a hint I ever met. 
And your stories are as dull as your powers 
of comprehension.” 

Bobbins now understood plainly enough; 
but he was annoyed, for he liked Crane. 

“ I don’t allow unlicked cubs fresh from 
school to dictate to me what stories I am to 


63 


tell,’’ he said, angrily. “ You’ll either apolo- 
gize, or — ” 

“ Or what ?” 

ll^o more pellets, confound you !” cried the 
angry Bobbins. “ I’ve stood more from you than 
I would from anyone else. You must be mad.” 

Crane’s eyes flashed ominously. “ One 
would almost think you are afraid. Eeally, 
Colonel Bobbins, if you won’t fight, I must 
make you.” 

You confounded young ass !” said Bobbins, 
gloomily. “ But, by gad, if you will fight it’s 
all your own doing. And, what’s more, you’ll 
have your hands full.” 

With an admirably feigned semi-tipsy laugh, 
Tomalyn discharged yet another pellet at Bob- 
bins’s nose. 

“ Couldn’t help firing at that old danger sig- 
nal,” he said to Hawtrey Bey, who had saun- 
tered up. 

Bobbins turned very pale, with the exception 
of his nose, the ruby tint of which nothing 
could tone down. 

<Wery well,” he said, grimly. “You see. 
Colonel Hawtrey, how I’ve been publicly in- 
sulted by this young cub. By gad, sir. I’ll 
kill him, or make him apologize on his knees 
before the whole club.” 


64 


“ Shouldn’t get excited if I were you, Bob- 
bins,” said Hawtrey. “If Crane wants to 
fight I’ll act for him. I’d tackle you myself, 
only it’s such a bother.” 

Crane looked gratefully at Hawtrey. 

“To-morrow morning — on the terrace at 
Therapia,” said Hawtrey to Bobbins’s friend. 
Grant Pasha, who came hurrying up at a sig- 
nal from Bobbins. Grant and Bobbins gen- 
erally hunted in couples. 

Grant Pasha bowed formally. “ Sunrise — 
eh?” he queried. He had gone through the 
formalities too often before not to have them 
cut and dried. “ All right ; I’ll bring a doctor 
— as a mere matter of form.” 

“ How then, youngster,” said Hawtrey, 
briskly, when they reached the hotel. “"We’d 
better ride out to-night to Therapia, have a 
few hours’ sleep, and if you get through — 
which is not very probable — we can be back 
in time for breakfast and the Hakatchkeui 
train. Better give me your people’s address, 
in case of accidents.” 

“ Oh, that’s all right,” said Crane, who had 
become utterly fearless. “ He won’t kill me.” 

“ I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” senten- 
tiously rejoined Hawtrey, as he gnawed his 
long mustache. “ Confound you ! I wanted 


65 


to be out after snipe to-morrow; you’ve 
stopped that, anyway. How did the row 
begin ?” 

‘‘ He insulted a woman, and, as I didn’t want 
the real cause of the row to get out, I flicked 
bread pellets at his nose until he was angry.” 

Hawtrey whistled. ‘‘Perhaps it’ll be as 
well if he does hit you to-morrow. You’re 
beginning young.” 

“ You can only teach some people with a bul- 
let. I don’t believe in doing things by halves.” 

“ All right, youngster. Here are the horses. 
Eeady ? Why, you haven’t written any let- 
ters. Made your will ?” 

“Ho necessity. Pm the only son of my 
mother ; besides, if anything happened to me, 
she wouldn’t want the money.” 

“ There’s something in that. But you might 
send her a line in case of accidents.” 

Crane shook his head. “ Ho, better not. I 
don’t think Bobbins will kill me ; but there’s 
one thing that has often occurred to me when 
reading accounts of duels, and that is — ” 

“And that is — ” asked Hawtrey, with a 
grin. 

“The fellow who sits down to write long 
letters and take a farewell of everything and 
everybody, because he may be shot, generally 

5 


66 


ends by bein^ shot. He’d be disappointed if 
he got off.” 

Hawtrey was astonished. “Well, you are 
cool for a youngster. I’ve been out myself, 
but I never thought of that.” 

Crane nodded, and put on his spurs — the 
right side up this time. 

“ Sure you’re not going to back out of it ?” 

“If you ask me that again,” declared the 
youthful fire-eater, “ I shall have to deal with 
you afterwards.” 

Hawtrey suppressed a grin. “The young 
un’s coming on,” he murmured. 

“ How I’m ready,” afiirmed Tomalyn, pick- 
ing up his whip. “If he hits me, which he 
won’t, be kind enough to send my things home, 
and keep the gold -mounted razors for your- 
self.” He looked affectionately at Hawtrey. 
“I did order you about with regard to my 
luggage, but I wasn’t versed in military eti- 
quette.” 

“ Yes, ’twas just like your cheek,” retorted 
the big warrior, secretly touched by the boy’s 
gift; for the tortoise-shell and gold-mounted 
razors were Tomalyn’s most cherished pos- 
session, although not very often required for 
practical use. 

“ They’re ripping good razors,” said Crane. 


67 


I flatter myself I know a good razor when I 
see it.” 

Again Hawtrey forbore to repress his young 
friend. 

“ Take my advice,” he said, “ and blaze away 
at Bobbins as fast as you can.” 

Tomalyn promised, as a personal favor to 
Hawtrey, to “blaze away at Bobbins,” and 
they set off at a long, stretching trot up be- 
yond the Taxime and on to the Therapia Koad, 
pursued by a howling pack of dogs, who re- 
sented this midnight intrusion on their domes- 
tic privacy. Tomalyn seemed fated to be un- 
lucky with horses ; for he was mounted on a 
nervous black beast, which jumped out of its 
skin at every patch of moonlight or rustle 
among the branching chestnuts which lined 
the road. The climax came when the black 
leaped from one side of the road to the other, 
nearly unseating Tomalyn, and then, as his rid- 
er’s whip rattled against a loose telegraph wire, 
bounded back again to his original position. 
The second leap was too much for Tomalyn’s 
newly acquired horsemanship, and he went 
flying out of the saddle on to his shoulder. 

“ Hasty business, young un,” said Hawtrey, 
dismounting and feeling him all over. “ Any 
bones broken 


Shoulder seems a bit stifP,” dubiously re- 
marked Tomalyn, sitting up in the hard road, 
while a cur, that lived outside a neighboring 
guard-house, sympathetically sniffed him over, 
and, nose iu air, began a series of ululations 
loud enough to waken the dead. 

“It will make a good excuse,” said Haw- 
trey. “ You can’t fight with your right shoul- 
der out.” 

“Honsense!” Crane jumped up. “Just 
put it in again, will you He set his teeth 
hard while Hawtrey tugged him one way and 
the corporal of the guard the other. 

“ All right now,” said Hawtrey, improvising 
a sling with his handkerchief. “ I’ll explain 
to Grant that the thing will have to be put 
off.” 

Crane had already crawled into the saddle. 
“ One doesn’t hold a pistol with both hands,” 
he said, scornfully. “ Come along. That dog 
is getting on my nerves.” 

Hawtrey tossed the animal a biscuit. He 
was fond of the street dogs, and carried about 
a supply of food for them in his capacious 
pockets. 

They rode on through the moonlight, fol- 
lowed by the dejected dog from the guard- 
house, who seemed to sniff a funeral in the 


69 


air, and to be qualifying himself for the post 
of chief mourner. At intervals along the road 
a sentry came out and challenged, but, on 
catching sight of Hawtrey’s uniform, allowed 
them to pass by. And so they rode down the 
steep hillside, along a vine -clad valley lead- 
ing to Therapia, until they came to the fish- 
ermen’s quarter, and drew rein at Petala’s 
hotel. Once inside the hotel, Hawtrey gave 
Crane a soothing draught, and hurried him 
off to bed. 

It seemed to Crane as though he had 
scarcely shut his eyes before Hawtrey pulled 
aside the bed-curtains and gravely told him to 
get up. 

The Colonel helped him to dress, made a 
fresh sling for his arm, and then halted on the 
threshold. 

“ There’s just time for a cup of coffee before 
I take your apology.” 

Crane put another lump of sugar in his cup as 
he began to eat a roll and a bunch of grapes. 

“ I wish you’d tell me once and for all why 
you want me to apologize to that fellow,” he 
said, eying Hawtrey curiously. 

“Well, he’s bound to hit you if you have 
your arm in a sling. Go up there like this, 
and you’re a dead man in an hour.” 


70 


The knowledge appeared to give a zest to 
Crane’s appetite. 

‘‘ My dear colonel, I told you that Bobbins 
had insulted a lady whom I have the honor to 
know. That ought to settle it.” 

‘‘Oh, very well,” said Hawtrey, grimly. 
“ Where did you say I should find the razors ?” 

“ In my dressing-case at Nakatchkeui.” 

“ Thanks. I’ll come back to you in ten 
minutes. Grant’s staying in the hotel, and I 
want to see him.” 

When Hawtrey returned Crane had taken 
off the sling. 

“ I can stand it for half an hour,” he said, 
throwing the handkerchief to Hawtrey. 

“ Take my arm, and come along, then.” 

“Ho, thanks; if I do, they’ll think I’m 
funking it.” 

Hawtrey followed the lad down-stairs with 
a grin. 

“ Seems to think he’s going to a dance, the 
murderous young devil ! Ah, well ! I’ve done 
all I can to make him funk it.” 

As they climbed slowly up the terrace it 
was still shrouded in morning mist. 

“ How,” said Hawtrey, “ we must wait for 
five minutes, till the light’s better. You un- 
derstand how it’s done ? ‘ One — two — three 


71 


— fire !’ If you fire before the proper time 
you’re disgraced forever.” 

Crane nodded as the diminutive form of his 
adversary emerged from the mist. Bobbins, 
quiet and grave, took off his light overcoat 
and folded it with military neatness. He had 
not at all the air of a man who meant never 
to wear it again. 

“Wish he’d hurry,” thought Crane. “If 
we both miss it only makes us look ridicu- 
lous.” 

His coat folded. Bobbins gravely bowed to 
Hawtrey and Crane, who ceremoniously re- 
turned the salute. A man, who looked like a 
ship’s surgeon, leaned idly against the railing 
which shut off the terrace from the valley, 
unostentatiously holding a neat little case of 
instruments in his hand. The sight of the case 
sent a thrill down Tomalyn’s spine. Bobbins 
evidently meant business. 

Hawtrey took Grant on one side. “The 
usual distance, I suppose ?” he queried, with a 
slight chuckle. 

“ The usual distance,” answered Grant Pa- 
sha, gravely. 

By the time they had finished pacing'^the 
distance, and had placed their men, the mist 
began to roll away. 


72 


“ ISTow, gentlemen,” said Grant Pasha, 
“ you’re to fire when I give the word. I have 
arranged with Colonel Hawtrey that honor 
will be satisfied by a single interchange of 
shots. Are you ready 

They both nodded. Crane already beginning 
to think that, after all, a man wasn’t such a 
very big object to hit, especially when he 
held a murderous-looking little weapon in his 
hand. 

‘‘ One — two — three — fire !” 

As the sharp, whip-like crack of the pistols 
died away Crane stood unhurt, but Bobbins 
fell to the ground, writhing like a wounded 
snake. There were some red marks on his 
chest. Suddenly his head dropped back, he 
wriggled a little more, clutching at the grass 
and tearing it up ; then, with a shiver, he lay 
still, staring up at the sky. 

Crane was dazed. “ I aimed at his shoulder. 
I didn’t mean to kill him.” 

“That’s why you hit him where you did. 
Come along,” said Hawtrey, curtly. “ We’ll 
leave him to the surgeon.” 

They bowed ceremoniously to Grant Pasha 
and the surgeon and moved away. As Crane 
looked back he saw Bobbins’s head on the 
surgeon’s knee. 


73 


^^ISTasty business/’ said Hawtrey. “Fort- 
unately it’s in Turkey. Pity be wasn’t an 
Armenian. ISTobody would have made a fuss 
about there being one Armenian the less. We 
ought to have had another man to give the 
word ; but there wasn’t time to get one, you 
were both in such an infernal hurry.” 

They were now galloping back to Con- 
stantinople as hard as the horses could go, 
Crane quite forgetting, in the excitement of 
the moment, that his shoulder hurt a good 
deal. 

“ Sorry ?” asked Hawtrey, as they rode into 
the station and caught the morning train for 
Hakatchkeui. It was only three-quarters of 
an hour late. 

Crane turned towards his questioner. “ Of 
course I’m sorry. But I didn’t make the uni- 
verse. Am I to blame because I find in it a 
certain code which enacts that when a man 
slanders a woman he must be punished ? I’m 
sorry I killed him ; I didn’t mean to. If he — 
if he were to come to life to-morrow,” gasped 
the youngster, “ and repeated his offence, I’d 
do my best to punish him.” 

Hawtrey gave a grim smile, and got out 
a chess-board. The pieces had little pegs 
attached, which fitted holes in the board. 


74 


Hence, when the train ran over a mule or a 
dog the jolting did not break up the game. 

Your move, I think,” he said. 

Crane played the game out, and won it be- 
fore they reached the station, where their 
horses were waiting. 

After dinner that evening Smith entered 
Crane’s room on the broad grin. 

“ ’Sense me, sir, but nice larks you must 
have been having somewheres. Any of them 
Turkish ladies been chucking jam at you from 
behind their wooden windows ?” 

“ Jam ? Ho. What do you mean. Smith ?” 

‘‘ Well, sir, I seed that clumsy Halil trying 
to brush the coat you was wearin’ this mornin’, 
so I took it from him, and found a clot of jam 
where the heart would be if you was inside it 
— the coat, I mean, sir.” 

“Thanks,” said Crane. “Just try and 
sponge it out for me.” 

As Smith went away grumbling at the dif- 
ficulty in getting rid of the stain Crane walked 
into Hawtrey’s room without the formality of 
knocking. 

“Have you humbugged me? What’s the 
meaning of that jam on my coat ?” 

“D’you know,” asked Hawtrey, skilfully 
mixing himself something hot, and replacing 


75 


his little copper kettle on the charcoal mangal 
— “d’you know, Crane, who’s the best shot in 
Constantinople ?” 

“ N-no.” 

‘‘ Well, I am. I did think you’d have found 
that out by this time and Hawtrey mourn- 
fully added some sugar to the mixture. Got 
a glass ? Better bring your own, and I’ll give 
you some of this.” 

‘‘ I — I’m tired out, Hawtrey. Bobbins’s face 
keeps coming up in the dark and grinning at 
me.” The lad flung himself into a chair and 
tore at his collar as if choking. 

“ Bobbins’s mug isn’t a very ornamental one, 
my boy, but I’m afraid you’ll see it for some 
time. And it will always grin. He was a 
devil of a fellow to grin, except when the 
laugh came at his own expense. Go and get 
your tumbler.” 

Crane went to his own room and brought 
back the tumbler. 

“Drink this,” said the Colonel; “it’s as stiff 
as — as Bobbins.” 

Crane put the beverage down untasted. 
“ Don’t,” he implored. “ Don’t. If you only 
knew how badly I feel about it !’’ 

“ Well, you needn’t. Drink that at once.” 

Tomalyn drank it, and felt better. 


7G 


“Every young ass,” said Hawtrey, lazily 
filling his meerschaum, “ has to discover that 
he is an ass.” 

“Well?” 

“ Then he gradually stops being an ass. If 
you’d been killed, I should have had to write 
to your mother, send home your things, tell 
her the usual lies, and say how full of prom- 
ise you were, you young beauty. And your 
mother would have thought me a hero because 
I was kind to her dead. What’s your infernal 
Christian name, you young heathen ?” 

“ Tomalyn. Never mind my mother.” 

“ Her dear Tomalyn. Any one with a name 
like that ought to be shot. Why, you young 
idiot. Bobbins could have killed you with ease ; 
and he’d have done it, too, if I hadn’t gener- 
ously sacrificed those razors, and, to save my- 
self the trouble of packing up your things, ‘ in- 
tervened.’ ” 

“W-what d’you mean?” 

“ Sit down. Don’t get excited. I owed you 
one, also, for ordering me to fetch your things 
out of the train. Didn’t I tell you, just now. 
Bobbins was only second-best shot in Con- 
stantinople ?” 

“Well? Well?” 

“ Sit down !” Hawtrey put out a hand of 


77 


iron, and thrust Tomalyn back into his chair. 
“ I told Bobbins you were a young ass, though 
an honorable and upright ass, and that he 
(Bobbins) was an old ass — a dishonorable, 
shady old ass. I also informed him that, al- 
though I had no objection to a young ass 
kicking an old ass, I very strongly objected 
to seeing an old ass kill a young ass when 
the young ass was in the right. So Bobbins 
quickly discovered that if he killed you I 
should kill him.” 

“ Why?” 

“ I’ve already told you my reasons. I’m no 
good at writing letters home to sorrowing 
mothers, though what any mother can see in 
you to sorrow about passes my comprehen- 
sion.” 

“If you don’t mind, I should like to know 
the — the details of this infamous conspiracy 
against my personal honor.” 

Hawtrey leaned back in his chair and 
grinned. “ Oh, they are very simple. You 
‘ winged the shaft that quivered in your heart,’ 
as some poetical beggar says somewhere. 
D’you remember telling me your mother ’d 
sent you out some red-currant jam yesterday, 
and how you found it waiting for you ?” 

“ Ye-es.” 


78 


“We used it for the pistols,” said Hawtrey. 
“ The stuff loaded them splendidly.” His voice 
changed ; he arose in wrath, and towered over 
the humiliated lad. “ Don’t you ever dare to 
get into another row of this sort without con- 
sulting me first. If you do. I’ll thrash you 
within an inch of your life, and break every 
bone in your confounded body. D’you hear?” 

“ And I didn’t kill him, after all ?” dreamily 
asked Crane. 

“ Oh, go away. Kill him ! Of course you 
didn’t. You might as well try to kill an eel. 
The doctor was only a dummy, stuck up just 
to make the thing complete. Go to bed. The 
next time you write to your mother tell her 
she ought to be thankful you’ve got me to look 
after you. Providence has been good to you, 
my son. It generally is good to people when 
I take matters in hand.” 

Crane rushed out of the room. 

“ Hang the young beggar ! He might have 
thanked me,” said Hawtrey, sinking back into 
his chair and picking up a chess problem. 

The next moment it was dashed away, and 
something else thrust into his hands. 

“ What’s this ?” 

“ The razors !” And Crane rushed off again. 

Hawtrey critically inspected them. “Well, 


79 


I’ve earned them. I’d better lock them up 
for him. If this Brangwyn affair ’s serious he 
might want ’em in a hurry. Let me see. Oh, 
white to move to queen’s — no, king’s — bishop’s 
fourth, and — ” 

Crane’s head was already beneath the bed- 
clothes. The friendly clatter of the stork on 
the roof filled his heart with joy. Then his 
shoulder twitched, and he yelled to Smith for 
embrocation. Ten minutes later even the stork 
couldn’t wake him. 


CHAPTER V 


GOECHOFF 

The winter passed rather slowly ; and 
Crane, during his weekly visits to town, found 
it did not take long to exhaust the novelties 
of Constantinople. After the official duties 
with Tomkins Pasha were over he had sev- 
eral hours of leisure in which to cultivate peo- 
ple or to pursue his customary amusements. 
There were many riding- parties, but he pre- 
ferred to go alone. His little gray Arab, Tom 
Thumb, soon knew every road and bridle- 
path for miles round Constantinople and The- 
rapia. 

Through the forest of Belgrade, too, was a 
very pleasant spot for a long ride ; but Crane 
ceased to care for it after he had one day 
come across a man’s headless body lying in 
the path. On another occasion he had been 
surrounded by ragged Bulgarian refugees bent 
on plunder, and his revolver had freed him 
from them at the expense of a nasty flesh 


81 


wound — a wound which was duly deplored — 
for five seconds — by Mrs. Brangwyn. 

The day after this incident, so gratifying to 
his desire to see the world, Crane, with one 
arm in a sling, knocked at the iron -gated 
mansion of Mrs. Wyville Bains, and found 
that lady and Mrs. Brangwyn engaged in 
superintending the arrangement of a little 
morning-room for the latter. The two ladies, 
owing to sheer force of contrast, were now so 
inseparable that they had resolved to dwell 
together until they quarrelled — a contingency 
which might happen at any moment. 

“ It looks crude,’’ said Mrs. Wyville Bains. 
‘‘Can’t you suggest any improvement, Mr. 
Crane ? Don’t you think a statue of you, as 
the brigand-destroyer of Belgrade, would ade- 
quately fill up that niche ?” 

Crane smiled. “ I am afraid it wouldn’t be 
effective enough.” 

“ How so ? We insist upon your becoming 
a hero, and you resolutely decline. Why don’t 
you acquire a taste for the picturesque ?” 

“There isn’t much heroism in cowing a 
crowd of half-starved rufiians,” said Tomalyn. 
“ I felt inclined to fling them my purse out of 
pure compassion.” 

“ It is just as well you did not throw them 
6 


82 


your purse. If you had done so they would 
have taken it first and slit your throat after- 
wards. Some time ago an Englishman was 
driving along by the Sweet Waters of Europe. 
His carriage was stopped and his throat cut. 
The man’s wife recognized the villains ; they 
were caught and — ” 

‘‘ Then 

“ They were sentenced to imprisonment for 
life. A week after the sentence had been 
passed (I forgot to say that the Englishman 
recovered — Englishmen are very tenacious of 
life) the would-be murderers were at large in 
the streets of Constantinople.” 

“ How do you account for that 
Bakshish ! If statesmen at home were to 
recognize the impossibility of dealing with 
Turkey on any other ground we should be 
spared an infinity of trouble. It is the only 
argument which will be understood by the 
Turks as long as they continue a nation. You 
go on at the Embassy with your pretty mys- 
tifications of this and that ‘question,’ never 
touching the main issue, and scorning the ad- 
vice of people who have passed their lives in 
the country. But we must not talk politics. 
Mrs. Brangwyn is mad about them. That 
Eussian Embassy man, Gorchoff, when he was 


here last year, was always trying to convert 
her to his way of thinking. They were con- 
tinually putting their heads together.” 

“ It must have been nice for Gorcholf,” said 
Crane, artlessly. ‘‘ I looked in as a relief 
from politics, Mrs. Bains. Where do you in- 
tend passing the summer ?” 

“ Oh, either at Candilli or Therapia. I pre- 
fer Candilli, but all the others will go to 
Therapia, so I suppose we must follow their 
example. It is too much to expect people to 
cross the Bosporus and then find us out.” 

Here Mrs. Brangwyn joined in the conver- 
sation. “ It is not easy to find us out,” she 
said, enigmatically. “We are too profound.” 

“ I hate moving,” continued Mrs. Wyville 
Bains. “ All our furniture retains traces of the 
struggle for months after. The things are 
taken on a barge, and towed up by a steam- 
launch. When they reach the landing-place 
the native porters claim a right to remove all 
the furniture w^hich arrives at the scala^ and 
fight our servants with our furniture.” 

Crane laughed. “ I should think they made 
it fly about freely ?” 

“ Very. I have an inspiration,” continued 
Mrs. Wyville Bains. “ Let us stay in town 
this summer and be secluded.” 


84 


“ Horrible !” remarked Mrs. Brangwyn, who 
was picturesquely reclining on an ottoman, 
and showed her pretty teeth in a slight smile. 
‘^Imagine the ennui and the heat. People 
would think us dead.’’ 

“ I wish they would think us so now,” said 
Mrs. Wyville Bains. “ Mr. Crane, have you 
not heard of my sufferings last night ?” 

“ 'No. Were they very keen?” Crane bal- 
anced a teaspoon on his finger, and endeav- 
ored to look interested in Mrs. Wyville Bains’s 
sufferings. As a matter of fact they did not 
interest him in the least. 

“ It was a young Englishman,” began Mrs. 
Wyville Bains. 

‘‘ What was ?” asked Crane. 

You do well to call him an ‘ it,’ ” said Mrs. 
Brangwyn. “ A smooth-faced, blushing, pink, 
clean-looking young countryman of ours ar- 
rives with a letter of introduction to Mrs. 
AYyville Bains. He is announced, gets very 
red, blushes continuously, in fact, and stam- 
mers — he couldn’t have had very much to blush 
for ; he had only been here two or three days 
— explains that he is tutor to a noble youth of 
his own age, and, nervously twisting his hat 
between his slim white fingers, says that he 
finds the place rather dull. Most of us do — 


85 


as well as the people ; but we haven’t the cour- 
age to say so.” 

“Never mind moral reflections about can- 
dor,” said Mrs. ’Wyville Bains. “ I at once 
grew sympathetic, and asked him to dinner.” 

“ He came,” continued Mrs. Brangwyn, “ an 
hour before dinner, and stayed for two hours 
and a half after. Directly he reached the 
drawing-room Elise was so sympathetic that 
he felt confidence in her and never left off 
talking. I went to sleep. Yf hen I awoke he 
was thanking Elise for the delightful even- 
ing he had passed, and murmuring something 
about the pleasure of calling soon.” 

“ Monsieur de Smeeth,” announced a servant 
at this juncture. 

Not at home,” promptly replied Mrs. Wy- 
ville Bains. “ Some more tea, Mr. Crane ?” 

“Observe how selfish we are,” said Mrs. 
Brangwyn. “ It will be impossible for us to 
refuse to see you now. You will think hor- 
rible things about us if we do.” 

“It’s sad for Smith,” replied Crane, with 
boyish candor. “ Why didn’t Mrs. Wyville 
Bains talk to him about herself ?” 

“ Ah,” said Mrs. Brangwyn, with an imperi- 
ous glance, “ you sympathize with him ! You 
are endeavoring to become slightly sarcastic. 


86 


Mr. Crane ; and I do not permit sarcasm from 
young gentlemen of your age ; that would be 
too ironical.” 

“ There is still this corner to fill up with 
photographs,” suggested Mrs. Wyville Bains. 
‘‘ Let us put Mr. Smith in it. Don’t be un- 
kind to Mr. Crane when he cannot defend 
himself. You know very well that he is too 
much in awe of you to say a word. You 
should not be so harsh to children of his age.” 

Mrs. Brangwyn disdained to reply, but 
turned to survey the corner referred to. It 
was the most comfortable one in the room. 

“ Mr. Crane will fill it very well, only — ” 
Only ?” inquired Crane, with a blush. “ I 
— I’ve had some very swagger photos done.” 

“ I hope he will not become a statue before 
doing so,” Mrs. Brangwyn continued, with her 
brightest smile, as Mrs. 'W’yville Bains left the 
room. “ I am now in my element, Mr. Crane. 
There is nothing pleases me so much as to al- 
ter and arrange. Like the sparrows building 
their nests, I take a straw from here, another 
there, and then trim them off — so. You must 
forgive my little weaknesses, and I will tell 
you them all — all that are good for you to 
learn.” 

Crane settled himself comfortably in a chair 


87 


as if even his inexperience recognized that the 
telling would take some time. 

“ hTow you must listen. You may sit a 
little — a very little — nearer, father confessor 
— reverend father confessor with the budding 
mustache — and listen. But tell me what you 
think of that little Psyche. Isn’t it exquisite ? 
It was presented to me by Monsieur de Cas- 
sannova, who, like the sculptor Gibson on a 
somewhat similar occasion, lamented that the 
prejudices of society prevented his copying 
‘ my beautiful back.’ Ah, I have shocked you ! 
Isn’t it like a mutual friend of ours?” 

Crane shrank from this reference to Miss 
IJlverstone. Miss IJlverstone would be like 
the Psyche if her skin were not so ugly. 

‘^Please help me to arrange this tapestry, 
and don’t be silly. ISTow for that trophy of 
photographs on the small table yonder. I 
hope to add your ‘swagger’ photo — that was 
the word, wasn’t it? — to my collection shortly. 
You see, there is a spring here. As I receive 
fresh friends I place them at the foot of the 
trophy, and the top photograph falls over into 
— oblivion? 'No a basket, whence it is taken 
to a cupboard for decent burial. Give me 
that photo you have in your pocket and I will 
put it at the foot. In time you may be at the 


88 


top. Is not that a moral worth a week’s 
preaching? You will think me horrid — want- 
ing in feeling; hut that is a mistake. When 
people go away I cannot bear to be reminded 
that I have lost sight of them, and so I touch 
the spring when I feel sad and they disap- 
pear!” 

“ I wonder how they feel?” suggested Crane. 

“ Oh, that is a detail which does not con- 
cern me. I am pleased with the effect of this 
room. If I had not been I should never have 
tried again. Now I am going down to the 
bridge to get a little fresh air. Will you come 
with me ? — that is, if your arm does not pain 
3^ou. I cannot bear to see suffering ; it always 
annoys me. The bridge is the only clean place 
to walk in now. Not the big one over the 
Golden Horn, but a smaller one lower down. 
We must go round by the Champs des Morts, 
past the Antoniades Mansion, and then de- 
scend the hill. There are very few people 
there ; you will be delighted with it, and will 
thank me for showing it to you — at least, you 
ought to do so.” 

“ I do — most fervently.” 

“ I will not pretend to believe you did not 
send me those beautiful flowers ; your servant 
betrayed you to my maid. Servants always 


89 


do ; and my maid is interested in you. She 
has never seen any grown man with such a 
smooth chin. But you must not send me any 
more violets, or I shall be angrj^ with you. I 
have talked away the afternoon. Are you 
ready ? If so, we will start.” 

As they walked down to the bridge, Mrs. 
Brangwyn encountered many people whom 
she knew. She was in very good spirits, and 
enchanted them with her amiability. “You 
cannot think how much I delight in a day like 
this,” she said to Crane. “The breeze is so 
sweet, and fresh, and pure that existence is 
better and brighter. On a dull, damp day I 
cease to care to exist. Everything is then so 
miserable that I get a migraine^ and become 
almost ugly. I want a great many things 
which are impossible; in fact, I am thoroughly 
dissatisfied. But I cannot imagine anything 
more enjoyable than this. Can you ? Let us 
walk here, where the breeze blows softly upon 
us, and we can watch the gulls wheeling swift- 
ly around the boats, and the cormorants get- 
ting their suppers.” 

“Mever mind the cormorants,” said Crane. 
“ They jar upon one.” 

“ There ! I have spoiled it all,” Mrs. Brang- 
wyn admitted. “It is just what Colonel Bob- 


90 


bins would say. It is as if I had done some- 
thing vulgar. You must not think of what I 
said to you on that first night of your stay in 
Constantinople.” 

I can’t help thinking of it,” Tomalyn dog- 
gedly replied. It haunts me.” 

‘‘ Forget it. Let us revel in the air and the 
sunshine. We will be children. I could al- 
most run about like that beautiful little girl 
yonder. If you love me, decline to be critical 
and trust me. What have I said ! You are 
such a boy, of course I cannot help knowing 
you love me. Tell me all about it. Don’t be 
demonstrative. I am, at least, five years 3^our 
senior. You charm me. Why are you so un- 
sophisticated and fresh ! See what an avowal 
I have drawn from you. Describe your feel- 
ings, all your needs, all your difficulties.” 

Tomalyn looked foolish. “ How can I put 
them into words ?” 

“ How do I affect you ? Why do you love 
me ? Is it for psychological reasons ? Ho ; 
I think you are too young to love me for 
psychological reasons. You have lived with- 
out me before ; why cannot you live without 
me now, poor boy? Don’t you know that 
you need expansion ? You have fallen in love 
with the first woman you met, and you think. 


91 


should anything part us, that you will never 
get over it, whereas it will be but an episode ; 
and an episode doesn’t constitute a lifetime.” 

Tomalyn kicked a stone out of his path. 
‘‘ Then I want my lifetime to constitute an 
episode.” 

“You must not tell any one of this, you 
would be laughed at ; and I do not care to 
make myself ridiculous. You don’t see that 
there’s anything ridiculous ? Well, no ; I sup- 
pose you do not. What are my plans? I 
have no plans ; I am a creature of impulse, 
and my impulse is to enjoy the present and 
its episodes. Then, there is the pleasure of 
taking you away from that ugly Miss Ulver- 
stone, who adores you. Apropos of Miss 
Ulverstone, here she comes in the distance. 
Why does she generally look so malicious 
when she sees me? When a woman looks 
malicious, you may be sure that she hates one. 
She is still at the top of the hill, however, and 
we will not disturb ourselves about her until 
she reaches the foot. Tell me, meantime, how 
Tomkins Pasha is getting on with his fortifi- 
cations ? Are the guns coming up yet ? You 
know how those great, deadly things inter- 
est me. Powder is alwa3^s to be loved or 
dreaded. I like those great, grim guns, the 


92 


saviours of a nation, when their horrid throats 
begin to speak.” 

Mrs. Brangwyn was beautiful. She loved 
him, and yet wanted to talk about stupid 
guns. Crane could scarcely believe her. The 
mocking cries of the gulls sounded in his ears 
as the water lapped against the piers of the 
bridge. A passing cloud threw a shadow over 
the radiant scene ; the balmy west wind be- 
came nipping and chill. Earth, air, and 
waves had smiled at the first sweet breath of 
spring ; but the smile now changed to the 
wan, dull look of winter. Was it an omen of 
the future ? 

Mrs. Brangwyn instinctively divined his 
thoughts. “ ISTever mind the guns. We can 
talk about them later on. See how the sun is 
shining again, and the birds singing. Let us 
enjoy the present. Too soon it will become 
the past. I believe that for every happiness 
one has to undergo an equivalent amount of 
suffering ; but I am now putting off the suffer- 
ing, and shall endure it altogether some day 
when things go wrong, and there is no hope 
left for me. Everything here is pure and 
bright. I need only love and sympathy to 
feel that I am in unison with Nature. If you 
could see into my heart ; if you could but be- 


93 


hold the past, dreary, miserable, wasted years, 
I think you would pity me. I, who never 
humbled myself to any one, tell you this.” 

Hush !” he said, gently. “ The present is 
all-sufficient.” 

“Ah yes, but the future?” she moaned. “ I 
have a presentiment of evil ; it is near me, 
even now. If you could know the truth, you 
would despise me. I have led you on, uncon- 
sciously to yourself, by every means in my 
power. I took your fresh young heart, and 
moulded and shaped it to my own ends. 
Such ends ! In my hands you were as plastic 
as wax. You did not know it, but you were 
utterly powerless. What could you do, poor 
boy, against the wiles and artifices of a 
woman like myself? Some day you will 
loathe and hate me, and I shall deserve it. 
You will become a soured, hopeless, disap- 
pointed man, and the only thing which will 
enable you to recover will be Time. It would 
be better for you to lie dead, here at my 
feet, than to listen to words of love from my 
lips. I have been playing a part.” 

“You!” he said, incredulously — “you play- 
ing a part ! If an angel from heaven were to 
tell me so, I would not believe it.” 

“Ah, angels are not likely to tell you any- 


94 


thing about me. The only one who can shat- 
ter your faith in me will be myself. Is not 
that the bitterest part of my punishment ? I 
began to amuse myself, and now I — I am 
afraid !” 

Her voice sank to a whisper. Miss Ulver- 
stone and her companion were within fifty 
yards of them. 

Suddenly Mrs. Brangwyn started, and put 
her hand to her heart. 

“Gorchoff! See! Gorchoff is with her! 
My punishment has already commenced.” 

Crane was alarmed by her momentary pal- 
lor. Then the color came back to Mrs. Brang- 
wyn’s lips, and her eyes sparkled. She drew 
herself up until it was difiicult to believe that 
this was the timid, incoherent woman of a mo- 
ment past. 

Ah,” she declared, “ we have been playing 
a comedy. I allowed myself to be carried 
away b}^ the picturesqueness of the situation. 
You know that you are decidedly picturesque, 
Mr. Crane?” 

Crane was too bewildered to answer. He 
thought that he was accustomed to Mrs. 
Brangwyn’s rapid alternations of mood; but 
now he could not follow her. 

Miss Ulverstone joined them at the foot 


95 


of the bridge. She was accompanied by a 
tall, thin, elderly man, who bowed profound- 
ly to Mrs. Brangwyn. She turned pale with 
anger. 

“ I found Monsieur Gorchoff at Mrs. Wyville 
Bains’s,’’ Miss Ulverstone explained, in a cu- 
riously constrained manner, “and when she 
told us where you had gone, I ventured to 
bring him with me.” 

“ Thank you so much,” answered Mrs. Brang- 
wyn. “ Monsieur Gorchoff, I did not expect — 
or hope — to see you for at least a twelve- 
month. You are looking as if the pleasures 
of waiting had palled upon you.” 

Gorch off’s reply to this sarcasm was another 
profound bow. 

“ You do not know Mr. Crane,” continued 
Mrs. Brangwyn. “ Mr. Crane, Monsieur Gor- 
choff, my future husband.” 

A bombshell seemed to suddenly explode 
beneath Crane’s feet. But he bowed mechan- 
ically to Gorchoff, and echoed his common- 
place chat about the weather. 

It could not be denied that, in appearance 
at least, Gorchoff — this tall, thin, elderly, steel- 
blue-eyed Gorchoff — was essentially common- 
place. How two such dissimilar natures as his 
and Mrs. Brangwyn’s would ever be able to 


96 


pass their lives peaceably together was a mys- 
tery. 

Crane fancied he saw Mrs. Brangwyn’s lips 
twitch ; but he would have persuaded himself 
that this was merely his excited imagination 
had she not dropped her handkerchief. Gor- 
choff picked it up, and, as he did so, Crane 
noticed that it was torn nearly in two. 

“ This repays me for my journey,” said Gor- 
choff, handing the handkerchief to Mrs. Brang- 
wyn. “I intend to stay some time in Con- 
stantinople,” he added, turning to Crane. “ I 
was very lonely — lonely even in St. Peters- 
burg. Old fogies like myself do not bear 
loneliness well, so I started for Constantinople. 
I intended to surprise Mrs. Brangwyn.” 

“ I ought to have known you would do so,” 
said Mrs. Brangwyn. “You are full of sur- 
prises — unpleasantly so, sometimes. Good af- 
ternoon, Mr. Crane. Please escort Miss Ulver- 
stone back. The streets are not very safe now 
for unprotected ladies. There are so many 
surprises, you see.” And she was gone. 

“ What surprised Mrs. Brangwyn ?” inquired 
Crane, as he turned back with Miss Ulverstone. 

“ Mrs. Wy ville Bains informed me that she 
had quarrelled with her future husband. They 
agreed not to meet again for a year. He 


97 


wishes to be reconciled before the year has ex- 
pired. To judge from her manner, I should 
think it very probable that they will soon 
quarrel again. 'No one can understand why 
she is going to marry Gorchoff, except that 
he is reported to be extremely rich, and she 
is hopelessly extravagant. Didn’t 3mu know 
of the engagement ? What’s the matter, Mr. 
Crane ? Aren’t you well ?” 

“ ]N’o ; I didn’t know. I thought — I 
thought — ” He put his hand to his head as 
one who dreams. 

Miss III verst one looked at him curiously. 
Her sympathy for the lad was too keen not 
to know that silence was the best course. 
Womanlike, however, she burned to discover 
how far Crane had succumbed to Mrs. Brang- 
wyn’s influence. 

“ You have had bad news ?” she asked. At 
the same time, being an ugly woman, she could 
not help feeling that Crane was a fool for wor- 
shipping Mrs. Brangwyn’s beauty. 

“ Yes, I’ve had bad news. I — I don’t think 
I’m well to-day.” And he staggered. 

Sit down here and recover yourself,” she 
said, kindl}^. 

As they came to the old Turkish graveyard 
at the top of the hill, dark-foliaged cypresses 

T 


98 


frowned heavily down upon the young people. 
The place was dank and cold, and reeked with 
moisture. Underneath their feet the grass 
grew rankly. There was nothing suggestive 
of the tranquil rest, the sweet - smelling flow- 
ers, the turfy mounds of an English God’s- 
acre. ISTo shafts of sunlight pierced the shad- 
ows or played upon the slim stems of the cy- 
presses. The chill of it all struck straight to 
the heart. A dim, monastic gloom fllled these 
mourning, lonely aisles, and shrouded all liv- 
ing things within its embrace. The change — 
out of the sunlight into the silence of this dol- 
orous wood — was doubly oppressive. These 
ghostly trees had nothing real about them ; a 
musty odor arose from the shrivelled bark ; 
they might have been giant sentries frozen at 
their posts, they stood so fiercely grim and si- 
lent. 'No birds perched upon the boughs ; the 
weird stillness was that of another world — a 
world of gloomy sorrow and despair. 

Crane sat down on a grave. The trees swam 
round and all was blank. 

Splash ! splash ! Two large, warm drops fell 
upon his face. 

‘‘Poor fellow!” he distinctly heard some 
one say. 

“ If an angel from heaven told me, I would 


99 


not believe it !” he found himself incoherently 
crying, as he struggled into a sitting posture. 
‘‘If an angel from heaven told me, I would 
not believe it !” 

When he looked up, he found Miss Ulver- 
stone bathing his temples. 

“ Come, Mr. Crane, you are better now. I 
fancy you have neglected your wound. You 
must be more careful.’’ 

With a rather unnatural assumption of re- 
covery, Crane rose from the ground. 

“ I beg your pardon a thousand times. Miss 
Ulverstone. I didn’t mean to be such a stu- 
pid ass. That knife must have gone deeper 
than I thought.” 

“ You were rather alarming,” she said, cheer- 
fully. “ For a moment I thought it was much 
more serious. A little eau de Cologne worked 
wonders. What a cheerless place in which to 
faint! Those brigands must have hurt you 
more than you are willing to admit. Let us 
get out of this as soon as we can. I see the 
spirits of departed Turks hovering all round 
us. It is an eerie place.” 

“So it is,” he answered, slowly; “but it 
would have been much worse without your 
kind help.” 

Miss Ulverstone turned round as they gained 


100 


the open space leading into the road. There 
was a light in her kindly eyes which for the 
moment made them as beautiful as the soul 
shining through them. 

“ Mr. Crane,” she said, gravely, it would 
be idle to pretend not to know what ails you. 
Don’t let us make believe any longer. The 
treatment you have received was deliberately 
vile and heartless.” 

Tomalyn made a gesture of intolerable pain. 
‘‘ You are very good. Miss Dlverstone. I ap- 
preciate very much what you say ; but you are 
wrong, quite wrong. It was all a mistake — 
my mistake.” 

“ I ought to have warned you.” 

I don’t understand. My wound has been 
too much for me ; that is why I have talked 
nonsense. Please don’t fancy any one is to 
blame but myself.” 

“You are manly and honest and true,” 
she said, softly, “ and would not betray 
your worst enemy. Think what your life 
would have been, linked to hers. Sooner or 
later, the awakening must have come. Bet- 
ter that it should come now, before it is too 
late.” 

“ You are very kind, but you are mistaken,” 
he said, obstinately. 


101 


She laid her hand upon his arm. “Don’t 
do anything rash, Mr. Crane. And now we 
are close to the Hotel Koyal. Good-bye. 
Come and see us in a few days, when your 
arm is better.” 

Crane gazed at the door as it swung back 
on its hinges, and went off to his rooms with 
a dazed look upon his white face. 

There were some dowers on the table ; be- 
side them a note from Mrs. Brangwyn. He 
threw the note into the fireplace unread. 
"Where was his faith ? Dead and gone ; crum- 
bled away as quickly as the ashes of the un- 
read note. 

I will see her once more,” he said, “ and 
then — ” 

Smith knocked at the door. 

“ Who’s there ?” His voice sounded husky 
and strange. 

“Me, sir. I was wondering whether you 
could lend me half a lira, sir. There’s some- 
thing special 'On to-night at the Trocadero. A 
young Greek lady wants me to take her there, 
and I ain’t got no chink.” 

“ Oh yes. Smith. Here’s a lira. Mind 
you’re ready for the Pasha in the morn- 
ing.” 

Smith thanked him, and softly retired. 


102 


When he had gone half-way across the pas- 
sage, he stopped and crept back again ; but 
there was no sound within. 

, “It’s my opinion,” he said, wrinkling his 
sagacious forehead, “ he’s come a cropper 
somewhere. Wonder whether he’s been be- 
hind the scenes to the rougey noir table at the 
Concordia, or ’s got himself mixed up with 
some of them Dancing Dahlias, and afraid to 
make a clean breast of it. He’s that proud I 
^ daren’t sa}^ nothing to him. P’r’aps I’d bet- 
ter go and lick that there Kourrian, just to 
put things straight a bit.” 

When Tomalyn rose from his chair, the 
fresh, bright color had fled from his cheeks, 
and there was a look of patient endurance in 
the once laughing eyes. 

, “ Ah, well,” he said, with a forlorn yawn, 
^ ‘‘ it seems rather early to start a skeleton ; but 
I’ve only myself to thank for it. I hope I 
didn’t give myself aAvay to Miss Ulverstone. 
She has a heart of gold.” 

Miss Hlyerstone’s maid, coming to call her 
at much about the same time, found that her 
mistress’s bed had not been slept in, and that 
her eyes were red with weeping. 

‘‘I do believe you’ve the sciatica again, miss. 
Let me run for the doctor,” pleaded the sym- 


103 


pathetic Jenkins, who dearly loved Miss LTlver- 
stone. 

“ l!^’o, thank you, Jenkins. I am quite well 
now. I must be more careful.’’ 

As Jenkins withdrew, a bird perched upon 
the window-sill and began to sing. 

“That is a good omen for any one who 
is superstitious,” Miss Ulverstone thought. 
“ Every sorrow brings its own balm. To think 
of that heartless wretch being so beautiful, 
while I — What have I done? What have 
I done that I should be so ugly ? 

She put her hands to her face as if to tear 
away the thick, swollen, disfiguring skin ; then 
prayed that the bitter cup of this ugliness 
might one day pass from her. The song of 
the bird shrilled upward with Miss Ulver- 
stone’s agonized cr}^ and helped to dry her 
tears. She gazed at the blurred outlines of 
her somewhat coarse features in an uncom- 
promisingly truthful mirror. Alas ! they were 
plainer than ever. 

“Ah,” she said, bitterly, turning away, 
“ only pretty women can afford to weep, and 
they are all the lovelier for their tears. He 
will go to see her to-morrow, and everything 
will be as before. I believe Mrs. Brangwyn 
is a Russian spy ; her engagement to Gorchoff 


104 


all a pretence. And yet she seemed genuinely 
angry when Gorchoff appeared. It shall be 
s the business of my life to discover the truth. 
Meantime I shall not say a word to Mr. Crane 
until I have something tangible to go upon. I 
wish we were back in England. This Eastern 
atmosphere corrupts soul and body alike. I 
had better bathe my eyes, or that woman will 
see I have been crying.” 


CHAPTER VI 


MRS. BEANGWYN PLAYS A PART 

Although there may be something in the 
theory that, once disenchanted, a man re- 
mains forever freed from the chains which 
have bound him, yet the force of habit renders 
it difficult to cast them wholly aside. For a 
week after Gorchoffis appearance Crane found 
himself continually walking into the Eue 
Yenedik, as if to call on Mrs. Wyville Bains 
and her friend. Then the remembrance of 
his interview with Mrs. Brangwyn would sud- 
denly root his feet to the ground, and pres- 
ently cause him to turn away in the opposite 
direction. 

This could not go on forever. Look at it in 
whichever way he would, there was no escape. 
As for Gorchoff, he appeared to be a very 
harmless individual. Crane met him once or 
twice in the Grande Eue de Pera. Sometimes 
Crane fancied that there was more in Gor- 
choffis grave, self-contained mien than met 


106 


the eye. The manner in which he returned 
Crane’s bow was slightly tinged with cordial- 
ity, and Tomalyn gradually began to feel 
that his youth precluded Gorchoff from tak- 
ing him too seriously, or else that Mrs. Brang- 
wyn was so engrossing a study that she left 
scant room for others in her future husband’s 
thoughts. 

In the meantime, Gorchoff showed no inten- 
tion of leaving Constantinople. He had taken 
up his quarters at Missiri’s desolate - looking 
hotel, and regularly accompanied Mrs. Brang- 
wyn in her afternoon walk. They did not dis- 
agree — at all events, in public. Some people 
said how admirable was Mrs. Brangwyn’s 
manner to one so much her senior, and 
thought that they were a verj?- well -matched 
couple ; others considered that, although Gor- 
choff had ostensibly retired from political life, 
his coming to Constantinople meant some 
fresh move of Eussian diplomacy, and that his 
engagement to Mrs. Brangwyn was a ruse to 
mask the successful prosecution of his real ob- 
ject. There were ugly rumors afloat concern- 
ing Gorchoff’s career ; but he looked so harm- 
less and peaceable that it was impossible to 
believe they were true. 

Do you intend to call on Mrs. Wy ville 


107 


Bains to-day ?” asked Gorchoff, meeting Crane 
about a fortnight after the bridge episode. 
“ Mrs. Brangwyn wishes to see you. Perhaps 
you can help them to arrange some excursion 
they were planning. I said I would let you 
know that you were expected.” 

Thank you ; I will go,” said Crane, with 
youthful directness. 

Gorchoff stood tapping his cane on one 
natty boot. 

“ You said ‘ yes ’ ?” 

Crane answered in the affirmative, and 
turned away. Gorchoff also turned away, 
tapping his cane a little — a very little — 
harder. Then he came back for a moment, 
and gravely offered Tomalyn his hand, very 
much in the same manner that one pugilist 
proffers his digits to another as a preliminary 
to battle. Crane took it, and walked slowly 
off in the direction of the Eue Yenedik. For 
nearly an hour he loitered, watching the an- 
tics of the street puppies as they scrambled 
in and out of the holes in the pavement, or 
sprawled about with the happy abandon 
which altogether forsakes them when they 
grow up to fulfil the thankless task of public 
scavengers. 

It is no use lingering,” said Crane, to one 


108 


particularly friendly puppy. “ Better get it 
over.” 

It had rained a couple of hours before, and a 
torrent of muddy water now rushed down the 
street, caught one of the puppies, and carried 
it away. IS'o mother was near to save it, so 
Crane ran towards the gutter and picked up 
the puppy. The mother rushed from the end 
of the street, and flew at him with a savage 
snarl. When she saw the puppy chewing his 
glove, she fawned on him, conscious of her in- 
gratitude. 

Tomalyn wondered, as he placed the puppy 
within its lair under the pavement, whether 
everything was turning against him in his 
hour of adversity. It may seem trivial that 
so slight a thing should have had the power 
to lead his thoughts into such a hopeless 
channel, but in a few days the whole world 
had changed its aspect. The petted, fortunate 
youth was wounded to the heart — duped egre- 
giously. If the world were full of such people 
as Mrs. Brangwyn, what chance of happiness 
would there be for any one ? A fortnight ago 
everything had been possible to him ; but now 
there was nothing — nothing — nothing ! It 
was but a vast void in which he found no 
place to rest, no Arm foundation for the sole 


109 


of his foot. He could not look forward to 
the future ; he dreaded the past ; the present 
was overwhelming. And it was all his own 
doing. 

Still in a dream, he followed the footman to 
Mrs. Brangwyn’s little boudoir. The small 
Psyche smiled upon him from one corner; 
costly hangings covered the walls. The group 
of photographs was in its customary niche, 
and his own face gazed out from among the 
others. As he touched the spring, his own 
carte rose swdftly to the top, poised for a mo- 
ment, and fell backward into — oblivion ! How 
many others had gone the same way % It was 
surely a year ago since he had laughed at this 
piece of folly. How it appeared to him to 
be the refinement of feminine cruelty. ‘Well, 
women were cruel ; and he was glad to have 
discovered the fact. 

There was a frou-frou of silken garments, 
and the woman he longed, yet dreaded, to 
meet stood before him in all her radiant 
beauty. She walked straight to the basket, 
took out the photograph, and replaced it in 
its original position. 

For a moment he felt an unspeakable rapt- 
ure; then a brooding horror, a Saul -like 
gloom. He dropped his hand as if the serpent 


110 


coiled upon her wrist had bitten him to the 
heart. 

Mrs. Brangwyn faced him without a word, 
but her eyes flamed into his own. He trem- 
bled. A mysterious impulse prompted him 
to fall at her feet. Her glance grew more 
intense. A subtle magnetism confused and 
overpowered him. In this dull trance he 
failed to distinguish his own identity. An 
unconscious struggle to throw off this oppres- 
sive stupor took place. 

Mrs. Brangwyn watched his efforts with the 
same fiery glance, her lips slightly parted, a 
look of scornful triumph replacing the steady 
intentness of her gaze. 

“So you have come at last,” she said, im- 
periously. 

Tomal^m bowed, and murmured an almost 
inaudible assent. 

“ Have you nothing to say to me, Mr. Crane? 
You are not always so silent.” 

“ISTo ; I don’t think so.” He turned to the 
marble Psyche, as if to seek relief from Mrs. 
Brangwyn’s oppressive radiance. 

“ Yes, you must have something ; you surely 
did not come here without a meaning. You 
have kept away long enough. Sit down, Mr. 
Crane, and tell me all about it.” 


Ill 


‘‘I came—” he said, his forehead contract- 
ing with pain. ‘‘ Oh, you know why I came ” 
— breaking off as if still under her mesmeric 
influence. 

“ You came because — ” she prompted. 

Oh yes, I remember noAV,” he answered, 
looking at her, and speaking in low, repressed 
tones. “ I came because you sent for me. 
I thought it best to hear what you would 
say.” 

Her eyes drooped for a moment. He had 
come as a judge, not as a suppliant. 

Don’t hurry,” he said. “ Perhaps you 
would like a little more time ; but speak now, 
or it will be too late. The truth ! Let us 
have the truth ! How could we ever meet one 
another with this living lie buried in our 
hearts? How can we meet your affianced 
husband ? Why not at once end this intoler- 
able misery?” 

How loudly the clock ticked ! and yet he did 
not remember to have seen a clock there. It 
was the beating of his own heart. A bird in 
its gilded cage began to sing. Years after, 
Crane recalled every trill it made. 

“I am not accustomed to hesitate,” an- 
swered Mrs. Brangwyn. ‘‘You ought to be 
aware of that by this time. My life was 


« 


112 


SO empty, so barren, and then ” — she spoke 
with mingled defiance and entreaty — “I did 
not think you would take it so much to 
heart.” 

‘‘ You did not think! You did not think! 
Did you ever in your life think seriously for 
five minutes of anything 

“You were only a boy ; I did not believe 
you would take it so seriously. I have had 
so many men at my feet. They have all re- 
covered. Why not you 

“ Because, I suppose, I was different from 
the others. You see, I hadn’t imagined the 
others.” 

“Yes, you were different. They were all 
men of the Avorld, MasQ^ cynical, spoiled. You 
were so fresh and innocent, so unspotted by 
the world, that I said to myself, ‘I should 
like to explore the recesses of this boy’s nat- 
ure.’ ” 

“And so?” 

“ I explored,” she answered, with a sort of 
exasperation and reluctant shame. “When 
I had once commenced, it was so amusing 
that I could not stop. I never knew what 
was coming next. ISTow, Mr. Crane, you 
know the worst of me. Let us be friends 
again.” 


113 


“You could not stop! It was so amus- 
ing!” 

“ Ko, I could not stop ; I had no other mo- 
tive.” 

“ Then,” he said, coming a step nearer to 
her, “ it was all a pretence from beginning to 
end — all a pretence ?” 

“ Yes.” She leaned back in her chair, cov- 
ering her face with her hands at this blunt 
declaration of the unvarnished truth. The 
look of agonized conviction stealing over 
Crane’s features, the utter impossibility of 
his grasping her frivolous motive, her own 
vileness, stunned her. She raised her head, 
and looked at him with real pity. “ISTow, 
Mr. Crane, you musn’t think hardly of me for 
leading you into this flirtation. I am not 
thoroughly heartless. But it is so common 
an episode in our world that I thought you 
would treat it as I did. People meet, flirt, 
and part; no one ever thinks anything of it. 
Let us be friends, and forget this — this re- 
grettable incident.” 

“ And Gorchofl’ ?” 

“ Oh, he has too much sang-froid to trouble 
himself about the matter, even if he knew 
that I had encouraged you to make love to 
me under the impression that I was free. If 
8 


114 


he had been younger, it would never have 
happened; he would have been more sym- 
pathetic.’’ 

“ Do you ever think what is to become of 
me?” 

She had nothing to suggest. 

am dishonored. Look at the hopeless 
misery which is dragging me down. For the 
sake of a whim you have wrecked my life. 
It isn’t for myself I care ; but what will my 
mother say when she learns I have thrown 
up everything, and become a wanderer on the 
face of the earth, because I have loved you.” 

“ Have loved ?” She came nearer to him. 
“ Do you mean that you have ceased to love 
me? Can you so soon forget all your vows 
and protestations? You are younger than I 
thought, Mr. Crane. You once said that if 
an angel from heaven were to undeceive you, 
you would not believe any evil of me. Is 
this your faith — the faith of a pure lad in a 
woman he loves ? You remind me of Gor- 
choif, who believes in nothing.” 

“ Except you.” 

“ Don’t sneer,” she said, passionately. “ Y ou 
know very weU I am less than nothing in his 
eyes. We are bound together by a chain of 
circumstances; I cannot explain this chain, 


115 


or break it. I should have told you all about 
Gorchoff, only I did not expect him.” 

They had changed places. He was again 
the judge — a very Ehadamanthus. How 
could she clear herself of her dissimulation? 
It was the old fable of the boys and the frogs 
over again. 

“You do not know what my life has been,” 
Mrs. Brangwyn went on, “ or you would not 
be so unjust. I was married at fifteen — a 
mere child — to a man old enough to be my 
father. He made me his toy until I wearied 
him ; then we quarrelled, and he died. You 
cannot imagine how I suffered until there 
grew up in me the desire to make others suf- 
fer. It was so dull to be an old man’s slave. 
Do not think me wholly heartless. There 
will come a time when you will judge me less 
harshly. I did not know you could be so 
stern.” 

Tomalyn looked at her, but did not speak. 
What was there in this halting narrative 
which could lessen the pain that tugged and 
gnawed at his heartstrings? For the mo- 
ment he could not think of her, but only pity- 
ingly of himself. 

“If — if Gorchoff hadn’t arrived, what would 
have happened ?” 


116 


“Nothing. He would have buried himself 
in his library, and left me to myself. Think 
of me — gay, thoughtless, fond of amusement 
— engaged to a bibliomaniac, who cares far 
less for me than for some worm-eaten book.” 

Crane said nothing, but looked at the Psy- 
che. Yes ; Miss Ulverstone’s blurred features 
slightly resembled the face. 

“ When I discovered that I had the power 
to slay men with my slightest word, when I 
found that they were the slaves of my bid- 
ding, what wonder that I, a slave, should re- 
bel too ? While my slightest whim was law 
to others, Gorchoff was immovable. He had 
no sympathy, no compassion. That was why 
I wanted to conquer him. Men are made of 
either wax or iron. There I was, day after 
day, beating my heart out to be freed from 
my engagement, and yet I never received one 
word of sympathy from my jailer. He could 
not understand why I should seek distraction 
in the society of others. Then we quarrelled. 
It seems to me,” she drearily added, “that we 
were always quarrelling. I had missed the 
very best thing life holds, and was beginning 
to discover it.” 

“Had you? Are there any best things in 
life for us to miss?” 


117 


Yes; if the contour of liiiss Ulverstone’s 
features could be altered a little she would 
look like the Psyche. 

“ I began wrong from the first. What could 
a child of fifteen know of marriage ? My hus- 
band was my guardian, and wanted to marry 
me. Why,” she cried, with hysterical wonder 
in her voice, I can remember buying a doll 
after my marriage, and keeping it in my ward- 
robe.” 

“ That was some time ago. You soon tired 
of your doll, and got others.” 

“ You are unjust.” 

“ Am I ? Could not your own sufferings 
have taught you a little compassion for others? 
When you felt how dreary and wretched your 
own life had become, couldn’t you have spared 
me? Others have lived through this sort of 
thing, and so shall I. People don’t die of 
broken hearts except in impossible novels. I 
came abroad in search of experiences, and I 
have found them. But why select me as a 
subject for experiments ?” 

“ I warned you against playing with edged 
tools.” 

‘‘Yes, but in such a way as to conceal their 
sharpness. I am not thinking of myself now, 
but of you.” 


118 


“ Of me ? I thought you had resolved not 
to think of me.” 

“Yes, of you. I placed you on so lofty a 
pedestal I can’t bear to see you descend from 
it. When a man believes a woman to be the 
incarnation of all purity, honor, truth, and 
finds her a shameless, living lie, how can he 
do otherwise than lose faith ?” 

“ You will not understand !” 

“ Only too well.” 

“ And you think yourself a boy ! You are 
nothing but a selfish man, just like the rest — 
cruel, hard, pitiless. I looked for very differ- 
ent treatment from you. There was an influ- 
ence about you which I could not resist. I 
ended by drifting. Gorchoff would not come 
to Constantinople for a year ; there could be 
no harm in your companionship. Every mo- 
ment the need of it grew upon me. In a fresh, 
young, ardent nature like yours I loved to 
trace what I might have been had not fate so 
cruelly warped and twisted me. Had I met 
you before I should have been different. It is 
too late now — too late !” 

“Yes,” he said, mechanically, “it is too late. 
We’re out of the sunshine of God’s world in 
the hell of our own making. It’s too late! 
too late !” 


119 


“ What is the use of losing days in lament- 
ing over those that are gone? I could not 
help loving you ; I suffered also. Ah, how I 
suffered, fighting against my love week af- 
ter week, and knowing that you and I could 
never be anything more to each other ! But 
then poor Miss Ulverstone came on the scene ; 
she is a better woman than I am. I had not 
a shadow of right to you in any way, but I 
could not bear to think she might one day 
win your love. I hated her just as much as 
she has always hated me.” 

‘‘Is there anything to be gained by drag- 
ging her name into such a discussion as this ? 
She is far above the mire in which we wallow.” 

Mrs. Brangwyn started as if she had re- 
ceived a blow. 

“ That is ungenerous, unworthy of you. 
Leave me to bear the blame, but at least be- 
lieve me. Have I shown myself so utterly 
false in everything ?” 

a Oh — h — h, Airril ! Airril ! If you had 
really loved me I could have forgiven every- 
thing. If you had only felt the love you 
feigned ; if only one instinct of womanly ten- 
derness and compassion had remained in you, 
I would have gone away bearing my sorrow, 
never looking upon j^our face again, but bless- 


130 


ing you as I went. It was all false — false 
from beginning to end. And such an end ! 
We are like Adam and Eve after the Fall. The 
curse is on us ; I have eaten of the forbidden 
fruit in loving you, and thought you free to 
love also. If you could but look me in the 
face, put your arms around me, and tell me 
that you really loved me, that yoii, like my- 
self, had drifted into our unspeakable shame, 
I would forgive you, weep with you, weary 
Heaven to take away this sorrow from our 
lives. Tell me,” he pleaded, “ is it all a hide- 
ous delusion ? Is it a snare to try me ? Does 
Gorchoff exist? Are you mocking me? Did 
you ever love me ?” 

“ Do you know what you are saying ?” she 
faintly whispered. “ Sometimes I think you 
do not understand. If you ask me that now, 
and I answer ‘ yes,’ would it not embitter the 
rest of our lives ? If, for the sake of regain- 
ing my old place in your heart, I were to tell 
you that I had loved you from the first, would 
you believe it ?” Her hands dropped to her 
sides, and she looked at him unflinchingly. 

“ If you were to tell me you had loved me 
from the first,” he answered, with a glad 
light breaking over his face, “ I would believe 
you, and bid you good-bye. If that be so, I 


121 


have done you wrong enough in my heart 
already. I would not drag you down still 
further. Some men cannot see a lily without 
longing to smirch its purity ; I am not one of 
them — yet.” 

“ Ah, I am no lily ; only an erring, suffering 
woman. If I had loved you, I should never 
have told you so.” Yet her lips were white, 
and her hand clutched nervousl}^ at the hack 
of a chair. 

If she told Crane of her love for him, he 
would leave her ; all would be over. Better 
that he should think evil of her, and remain 
in Constantinople. In Crane her expiation and 
punishment would be always near. A few 
bitter moments, a few harsh upbraidings, and 
the result would be attained. He must be- 
lieve that she had never cared for him. There 
were so many reasons why she did not wish 
him to go away. 

As he noticed her hesitation, a horrible fear 
broke over him ; the light fled from his eyes. 

I never loved you,” she whispered. “ How 
you know the worst. You torture me. Go!” 

Crane mechanically took up his hat. So,” 
he said, twisting it round with his hands, and 
carefully smoothing it the wrong way, “ there 
isn’t even that gleam of comfort left. Pardon 


132 


my suggesting it, but haven’t we been rather 
melodramatic 

“Yery,” she murmured. “Let us forget 
this miserable folly, and meet again as friends. 
You will remain. Though you may say hard 
things, and think them too, it will wear off in 
time. You are not angry with me ? Please 
don’t be angry with me.” 

“ Angry ! Do you want me to convert a 
farce into a tragedy ?” 

“ I^’o,” she answered. “ You amused me ; 
I thought the lesson would do you no harm. 
What remains in extenuation? If Gorchoff 
had not arrived in Constantinople, you would 
have become convinced of your folly after 
a little while. I have done you no injury. 
Calmer reflection will convince you this is 
so.” 

“ Perhaps ; but at my age one doesn’t re- 
flect calmly ; one suffers. The world — such a 
beautiful world of beautiful dreams and de- 
lights — was in the hollow of my hand, and it 
is gone. I’ve nothing left in its place. Noth- 
ing. No self-scorn can be too scathing for 
my own credulity. I took you for that which 
you seemed to be, and not for the beautiful 
fiend you are. If I have erred, the folly is 
mine, the shame yours. Knowing my w^eak- 


123 


ness, I leave Constantinople to-morrow. Per- 
mit me one word of advice.” 

“ Say on,” she cried, haughtily. 

“Do not treat any one else in the same 
way, or — ” 

“ Or what ?” 

“ Gorchoff may think, with me, that you are 
too precious to be left without a guard ; for, 
give you opportunity, no quicksand devours 
or swallows swifter. Good-bye. They al- 
ways say ‘farewell’ on the stage. ‘Good- 
bye’ is simpler, especially for the end of a 
farce. Good-bye.” 

“ Go !” she .moaned, and fell weeping to the 
ground, as he rushed from the room. 

Crane returned and carried her to a divan. 

“I loved you from the first,” she sobbed. 
“We are lost — lost for evermore. I dare not 
marry you ; Gorchoff would kill me.” 

A glad light spread over Tomalyn’s pale 
face ; he fell at her knees with an incoherent 
cry for pardon. Mrs. Brangwyn laid one 
hand upon the lad’s curly hair and pressed her 
lips to his. They were more passionless than 
those of a little child, colder than death itself. 
Then they parted — for a little while. 

“ Yes, if you married him I would kill you,” 
said a hollow voice. 


124 


Mrs. Brangwyn drew aside a curtain at the 
other end of the room, and Gorchoff stepped 
out from a convenient niche. 

Did I do it well she asked. Are you 
satisfied now ? Have I earned the money 

Gorchoff smiled indulgently, and laid a roll 
of bank-notes in her hand. 

“Very well, indeed; I was almost carried 
away myself.” 

“ So was I — for the moment.” She laughed 
with a mirth horrible to hear. 

Gorchoff sat down on the divan, and gently 
patted her white hand. 

‘‘ You are very useful to us, my child. Very 
useful. How that you have reassured that 
young fool, you know what you have to do 
about the fortifications ? Get out of him all 
he knows.” 

Oh yes, I know what to do. I — I acted 
very well, didn’t I ?” 

Gorchoff again patted her hand. 

“ Yery well. Yery well, indeed.” 

She shivered. 


CHAPTER VII 


KOUREIAN TRIES AGAIET 

Tomaltn returned to liis rooms, wondering 
whether the misery of the last few days could 
have been real. He seemed to have been suf- 
fering from some hideous nightmare ; to have 
walked about, a dreamer of dreams — a dreamer 
who had wronged his dearest, sweetest friend. 
Would she ever forgive him for all the unkind 
things he had said about her ? How weak his 
faith when compared with her magnanimity ! 
Nothing else mattered, now that Mrs. Brang- 
wyn really cared for him, though Gorchoff ev- 
idently had some hold over her. He would 
appeal to Gorcholf — buy him off — fight him 
if need be. Gorchoff was a Kussian ; all Eus- 
sians enjoy fighting. But suppose he killed 
Gorchoff ? Would not that polished and cour- 
teous gentleman leave papers behind him re- 
vealing the nature of the secret by which he 
held Mrs. Brangwyn in thrall ? No; that plan 
would not do at all. What was to happen 


126 


next? He did not know; he did not care. 
All was right with the world. 

“The west wind blew, his vessel flew 
Over a summer sea.” 

What a beautiful, happy, joyous world it was ! 
How — 

Some one knocked. 

« Why can’t I be left in peace for five 
minutes?” he demanded, rushing to the door. 
‘‘ What the dev — ” 

“ Ho, it ain’t the Old Gentleman this time, 
sir ; it’s only me, sir,” said Smith’s voice, still 
husky from the effect of recent potations. 

There’s the devil to pay, though, sir ; and 
when there’s the devil to pay, you may he 
sure you’ll get his little account soon enough. 
There’s no dodging him when he wants you 
to pay up.” 

Hever mind the devil. Smith. Come in 
and shut the door.” 

“ Oh, I don’t mind him^ Mr. Crane ; it’s him 
as minds me.” 

“What’s the matter? Want any more 
money for one of your ‘ quiet little tea- 
parties ’ ?” 

It was a habit of Smith’s, when Crane dined 
out, to track him down and send in word that 


127 


the Pasha’s servant wanted to see him imme- 
diately. Crane generally found Smith in a 
semi-intoxicated state, and knew from painful 
experience that he would immediately prefer 
his customary petition for money wherewith 
to defray the expenses of his ‘‘tea-party.” 
The old soldier had a constitution of iron — 
a constitution which not even Turkish raki 
could impair. Drunkenness was merely an 
incident with Smith. He was always sober in 
an emergency. 

“ Ho, sir, thank you, sir ; money’s no good 
to me to-night,” he replied. “ I ’ain’t got time 
to drink it ; and I never does anything else 
with it. There’s a pretty widow at Pancaldi, 
too, who’s very much gone on me ; and now 
it’s all over.” 

“ All over ? What d’ you mean ?” 

“ Marching orders for Hakatchkeui, sir. 
The Sultan’s getting uneasy in what he calls 
his mind (nobody else has ever been able to 
find it), and we’ve got to hurry on with them 
blooming forts again. That blessed old 
priest ’ll be round waiting to see if I’ve got 
any more shag for him, and the children ’ll 
come begging bread and jam, and there’ll be 
the cuckoos and spring onions, and stinking 
wild peonies, and the storks all of a row in 


128 


the marshes. But the widow ’ll never forgive 
me for going away just now.” 

‘‘ Oh, never mind the widow, Smith. You’ll 
get over it.” 

“Excuse me, sir; you don’t know what 
you’re talking about ; it’s 3^011 young gentle- 
men as gets over it. When you reaches my 
time of life, you’ll find a widow no joke. 
There’s always rather more’n a touch of the 
devil in a widow, sir — especially a furrin 
widow,” moralized Smith ; “ and mine’s got 
the usual allowance of Old Harry, with a tri- 
fle over. She’s a Greek, sir; always carries 
a weapon in her garter. ’Tain’t a very long 
dagger, sir, but it’s got a nasty edge. Ugh ! 
And she’s mortal proud of that little dagger. 
Tells me how easily it’ll go through a deal 
board. Shouldn’t wonder if she’s pining to 
try it on me, sir, if we has a row some day.” 

“ Well, you’ll be safe enough at Hakatch- 
keui. Have you told Halil to pack up ?” 

Told him in his own beastly langwidge, 
sir,” grumbled Smith. “ I just said ‘Ilaidee- 
git. Effendi’s baggage, you pessiwinJc-hashi ’/ 
and he wanted to knock me down.” 

“You’ll have to be more careful. Smith. 
That last word is the most offensive term in 
the whole Turkish language.” 


129 


I know, sir ; I know : I’ve heard it often 
enough. I ought to keep it for that there 
Kourrian. He wants a langwidge all to him- 
self, he does. There ain’t words bad enough 
in any ordinary langwidge to cover him up. 
These Turks are all alike, sir. You remember 
your handkerchief - case — the red satin one 
with the frills round it ?” 

“ Yes, yes. What of it ?” 

“ Well, sir, the last time I was at Hakatch- 
keui that there Halil had pinned it across his 
dirty stummick, and was trying to see it in 
a little looking-glass I gave him off a collar- 
box.” 

“Oh, well, give him the case and make 
friends. You must remember. Smith, that he 
hasn’t had your opportunities of intellectual 
enlightenment.” 

Smith grumblingly departed to make a some- 
what apprehensive call on the widow, after 
promising to rouse Tomaly n early in the morn- 
ing. The next morning, however, when he 
arrived, Tomalyn was waiting on the doorstep 
for the carriage, which, as usual, was half an 
hour late. 

“ You’ll make me miss the train, confound 
you !” said Tomalyn to the driver. “ What do 
you mean by it ?” 

9 


130 


The fellow lazily flicked the off horse’s ear 
with his whip. 

‘‘Well, Effendi, there will be another to- 
morrow.” 

“ If there is^ yt)U won’t be alive to miss it,” 
shouted Tomalyn, vigorously. “Drive on as 
hard as you can, or no hakshisliP 

The driver leisurely gathered up his reins, 
let fly a wild yell like a Comanche war-whoop, 
and began to run over everything and every- 
body. 

Though Crane was flung up to the roof of 
the carriage, banged about its sides, and bat- 
tered against the window, he emerged smiling 
at the station. 

“ That’s the way to drive, you rascal,” he 
said, giving the Jehu hakshish in lieu of the 
expected thi’ashing. 

The driver looked after him in amazement, 
as Tomalyn ran into the station, and made a 
rush for the slowly departing train. 

“ And he didn’t thrash me ! By my moth- 
er’s bones, but these Englishmen are all mad.” 

When they arrived at the station for hla- 
katchkeui, Tomalyn found his little gray Arab, 
Tom Thumb, who had gone on the night be- 
fore, under Halil’s charge, affectionately re- 
sponsive to the customary lump of sugar. 


131 


Crane sprang into the saddle ; and Tom 
Thumb, after a preliminary j^as seul among 
the baggage mules, just to show his delight at 
getting his rider back again, stepped daintily 
off behind Tomkins Pasha and the staff. 

Tomalyn, being a mere civilian, had to yield 
the pride of place to all these uniformed cava- 
liers ; but to-day he did not want to be beside 
them. The winter mud had dried up; there 
was more than a promise of spring in the air; 
the balmy west wind blew away the offensive 
odors from a dead mule, around which three or 
four gorged wild dogs were still lying, not too 
gorged, however, to rise with bristling crests 
and thundering growls as the cavalcade went 
by. Dozens of larks hovered in the blue sky, 
or rose just in time to escape Tom Thumb’s 
dainty hoofs, as the buglers on the heights 
continued to call each other with unflagging 
energy, and “ set the wild echoes flying.” 

When they reached the heights overlooking 
ISTakatchkeui, the staff swept off at a gallop to 
the left, leaving Tomkins Pasha with one or- 
derly and his escort. 

The chief beckoned to Crane to approach. 

“ I sha’n’t go my usual round of the forts to- 
day, Crane. I have some important things to 
dictate to you.” 


132 


“ Yery well, sir.’’ 

The young fellow drew back to follow his 
chief, but the Pasha motioned him to ride 
alongside. 

How are you shaping, Crane ?” the great 
man condescended to inquire. ‘‘Can you sit 
a horse yet ?” 

Tomalyn smiled. “ I had a row with Colonel 
Bobbins, sir ; but we’ve made it up, and he’s 
been teaching me how to ride before he goes 
home. When Colonel Hawtrey went to Salo- 
nica, he told Bobbins that I must be able to 
ride anything, from a camel to a cassowary.” 

The chief smiled inscrutably. “ Bobbins 
sold you any of his own cattle, eh ?” 

“ Ho, sir ; but there’s a nice mare he wants 
to get rid of.” 

“ Wrong in her off fore leg,” said Tomkins. 
“Stick to your little Arab for the present. 
Most Arabs can’t jump. Try him at that wide 
bit there.” 

Tomalyn rushed at the ditch with an inward 
hope that Tom Thumb would not disgrace 
himself before the chief. Tom Thumb gave a 
sniff, and sailed over it like a bird. As Crane 
landed, he was amazed to find the Pasha by 
his side. 

“ I always thought he was up to seventeen 


133 


stone,” said the Pasha, patting his horse’s neck. 
“ Mustn’t do this kind of thing with the staff 
about, though. They won’t understand it. 
Now for breakfast, and then work.” 

They clattered down the lane where Toma- 
lyn had so nearly ended his career, and found 
the sentries suspiciously alert. Kourrian had 
gone on in front to make them put away their 
trick-track boards. He now appeared with 
“ nods and becks and wreathed smiles,” to hold 
the chief’s stirrup. Halil did the same for 
Crane, and affectionately presented him with a 
bunch of flowers tied with a couple of young 
spring onions in order to keep them together. 

After breakfast, Tomkins Pasha sat down 
on a divan at one end of the room, lighted a 
cigarette, and closed his eyes. 

“ Don’t stop me if you fail to understand,” 
he said to Crane. “ It will take me about three 
hours to dictate this scheme of mine for the 
guns of the different forts and the condition of 
each fort. Let me have a copy of it to-morrow 
morning, and tear up your shorthand notes. 
I won’t insult you by saying I know that I can 
rely on your honour and discretion. Take care 
that the embassies and newspapers don’t get 
hold of my report in any way. The Eussians 
would give their ears for it. Now then — 


134 


“ ‘ I have the honor to submit for the pri- 
vate consideration of his Imperial Maiesty the 
Sultan—’ ” 

Tomalyn had no time for amazement at 
Tomkins Pasha’s prodigious grasp of facts, fig- 
ures, and details. For three hours the Pasha’s 
level, monotonous voice dictated without a 
break, save when he momentarily opened his 
eyes, lighted another cigarette, and threw away 
the stump of the old one. By the time his 
chief had finished, Tomalyn felt like a limp 
rag, and was in a position, should he prove 
traitor, to wreck the whole Turkish Empire. 

‘^Just place the papers under your pillow 
to-night,” said the Pasha, dryly, ‘‘and put 
your revolver with them — loaded.” 

As Tomalyn left the room, Kourrian came 
towards him. Crane had a vague impression 
that the Armenian had suddenly turned round 
to face him. 

“ What d’ you want ?” he asked, angrily. 

“ A telegram for his Excellency,” said Kour- 
rian, smirking. “ He is wanted at Fort Ho. 9.” 

The Pasha hastily ordered his horse, and 
went off. 

“ The Effendi seems busy,” said Kourrian, 
inquisitively, as Tomkins Pasha rode out of 
the courtyard. 


135 


“ Yes. Tell Smith I dine in my own room 
to-night. I don’t want to be disturbed.” 

I live but to obey the Effendi’s commands.” 

Kourrian’s sinister smirk made Crane dis- 
like him more than ever. There was an oily 
treachery about it which instinctively filled 
the lad with disgust. The fellow was more 
repulsively ugly than ever. 

But Crane had so much to do that he could 
not afford to waste time in speculations about 
Kourrian’s beauty or the lack of it. At six 
o’clock he dined frugally, and set to work again 
with redoubled energy, delighted to think he 
was playing an important part in a page of 
the world’s history. He finished his work at 
twelve, and wondered whether he had better 
disturb the Pasha in order to give him the re- 
port. But he knew that the chief liked his 
orders to be obeyed literally ; so, with a some- 
what sleepy, yet added, sense of importance, 
he tore up his shorthand notes into tiniest 
fragments, opened the window, and flung 
them out to float away through space. 

A multitude of stars shone somewhat frosti- 
ly down upon the mosque minaret through the 
cold night, showing w^here a great patch of 
the plaster had fallen away. At the foot of 
the mosque the dull-red turbaned tombstones 


136 


nodded crookedly to each other across a wil- 
derness af tangled weeds. The village itself 
was hid in darkness ; but afar off, on the 
heights, perpetual bugles called to one an- 
other with mellow softness, and stirred in 
Tomalyn all the hopes and fears of heady 
youth. Whispering voices of the night healed 
over the wounds of his sudden baptism in suf- 
fering ; the holy peace around filled him with 
spiritual exaltation. What a big world it was ! 
How full of delight! How wonderful, and 
yet how brief, the years before starlight and 
sunlight looked down on shut, unseeing eyes, 
and all the gayety and the joy, the love and 
the laughter, the wine and the wild warfare 
of life, were at an end 1 But a man must do 
something before dying — something to leave 
the world better and wiser for his having 
come into it ; something — Oh, this accursed 
thought of self — this creeping, crawling Ego 
which always showed up the real littleness 
of one’s soul! Would — ” 

His impassioned reverie was interrupted by a 
quiet tap at the door. Tomalyn hastily came 
back to the world again with a somewhat ner- 
vous consciousness of his important trust. 

“ Who is it ?” he sharply demanded. “ What 
d’ you want ?” 


137 


“ It is me, Koiirrian, Effendi. The night is 
cold. I have brought you a mangal to make 
you sleep.” 

As Crane opened the door, Kourrian en- 
tered with an open brazier filled with glowing 
charcoal. Perhaps the fellow was sorry for 
his past misdeeds. The fresh night air had 
chilled Crane ; he was hungry also. 

Kourrian put the clearly burning mangal 
into a corner of the room, and quietly return- 
ed with a neat little supper-tray. 

“ I knew the Effendi would be hungry after 
all his hard work,” he said, apologetically; “ so 
before the good Smith went out to see ‘hold 
Himaum,’ and take the ‘ shag tobacco,’ I got 
him to prepare a nice little supper. Here is a 
small bottle of wine, too. The Effendi will 
see that the seal has not been broken.” 

Crane, ashamed of his momentary suspi- 
cions, nodded cordially to Kourrian, and 
thanked him for the supper. 

“ I’m nearly starved,” he said, joyously. “ I 
wonder Smith didn’t think of it. There’s 
enough for Polly Wheedles, too,” he added, as 
Smith’s cat came into the room and lay down 
near the warm mangal. 

Kourrian obsequiously bustled about to find 
a place for the tray. 


138 


“ I will move the mangal out of the way 
into this corner, Effendi. Perhaps when the 
Effendi thinks of this nice little supper, and 
how poor Kourrian tries to please him, he will 
learn to love me again. The next time I go 
to Broussa I will bring the Elfendi a beautiful 
dressing-gown, so that he will not suffer from 
the cold nights.” 

He carried the mangal into a corner of the 
room, and, while his back was turned to 
Crane, deftly slipped the contents of a little 
packet into the burning charcoal. 

‘‘ Eat, Effendi, eat,” he said, pleasantly. “It 
will make you sleep well to-night.” 

Crane, his mouth full of cold fowl, nodded 
a happy affirmative, and Kourrian withdrew, 
after pausing a moment on the threshold to 
look round the room. 

“This month’s accounts will be ready for 
the Effendi to-morrow. Perhaps this time he 
will not be so hard on me, now that we under- 
stand each other better.” 

“We’ll see how the accounts come out,” 
said Tomalyn, opening the bottle of wine with 
a pocket corkscrew. 

“ Yes ; we shall see to-morrow how we settle 
our accounts,” and Kourrian retreated from 
the room with catlike softness. 


139 


Tomalyn finished supper, carefully fastened 
the wooden bolt of the door, saw that his pa- 
pers and revolver were all right, warmed his 
hands at the red-hot charcoal, and hastily un- 
dressed, after tossing some chicken bones to 
Polly Wheedles. Five minutes later he was 
asleep. 

Half an hour afterwards, a soft, velvety va- 
por began to rise from the mangal and to fill 
the corner of the room. As the volume of 
vapor increased, it rolled threateningly tow- 
ards the bed, and gradually overspread it with 
a pall of gray, fleecy cloud. In Tomalyn’s 
dreams a vast spirit came out of a sealed flask 
and hovered above him. 

There was a crash ! — crash-h-h ! — crash-h-h-h ! 
and Tomalyn felt himself lying upon the hard 
floor of the passage in his pajamas. Drowsi- 
ly raising himself upon one elbow, he found 
Smith in the doorway, angrily barring Kour- 
rian from entering the room. 

‘‘If I don’t get the Kyatib Eflendi’s (Mr. 
Secretary’s) papers out, the house may be 
burnt, my good Smith,” wheedled the drago- 
man. 

“ Pasha’s secrets is Pasha’s secrets,” said the 
imperturbable Smith; “and you don’t get hold 
of no papers in that there room, not if I knows 


140 


it. What silly fool took a mangal in when 
the charcoal wasn’t properly burnt up?” 

Tomkins Pasha quietly appeared, revolver in 
hand, and grasped the situation at a glance. 

“ The papers — un — der my pil — low,” gasp- 
ed Tomalyn. “ They are all ready, sir,” and 
fell back insensible again. 

Tomkins Pasha crawled into the room, felt 
for the papers in the bed, knocked a hole 
through the window with the butt of his re- 
volver, and crawled out again. 

‘‘ A near shave,” he said, quietly, to Smith. 
“Look after Mr. Crane. Some cold water. 
Quick !” 

Under the chilly influence of a bucketful of 
water Tomalyn came back to life. 

“ Don’t leave him in the draughty passage. 
Smith,” said the chief. “ Put him in my bed ; 
it’s warm.” 

When the lad had been given a stiff dose of 
brandy-and-water he fell asleep, Kourrian and 
Smith standing at the foot of the bed until, 
reassured. 

“ ISTow, Smith, how did it all happen ?” asked 
the chief. 

“ I’d been having a talk in his own langwidge 
with the hold Himaum,” said Smith, “ and got 
in about half-past one. I saw Kourrian loaf- 


141 


ing about the passage, and he seemed very- 
anxious to prevent my looking in on Mr. 
Crane to fetch out Polly Wheedles — my cat, 
sir.” 

]^ever mind the cat.” 

‘‘Well, sir, I heard a disponsive ‘miaou, 
miaou !’ from Polly Wheedles, and see a kind 
of vapor coming out of the door ; so I broke 
it open, hauled Mr. Crane out — Polly Wheedles 
didn’t wait to be hauled, sir ; she came flying 
out with a tail like a lamp-brush — and stopped 
him ” — with a contemptuous wave of the hand 
in Kourrian’s direction — “from going in. I 
knew Mr. Crane had a lot of your papers, sir.” 

“What did you want to go in there for, 
Kourrian ?” asked the chief. 

“Only to break open a window, your Ex- 
cellency,” said Kourrian, quietly. “I had a 
toothache and couldn’t sleep, so when the good 
Smith and I noticed the vapor I thought I had 
better crawl in. The charcoal was quite clear 
when I left it. Ask the Kyatib Effendi.” 

“Hum, not proven,” said Tomkins Pasha, 
admiring the rascal’s ingenuity. “You’re a 
very useful scoundrel, Kourrian, but I’m get- 
ting a little bit tired of you. It may interest 
you to know that my door was ajar all the 
time, and my revolver ready for any one but 


143 


Smith or myself who should approach Mr. 
Crane’s room.” 

Kourrian shrugged his shoulders. ‘^Excel- 
lency, I am but a poor dragoman. If you 
wish me to go — ” 

“ 1^0 ; you know too much already. Eemem- 
ber, you have had two chances. The third, 
and — I make short work of you.” He nod- 
ded significantly towards the pistol. “ What 
have you to say to that ?” 

“ I kiss the hem of your Excellency’s coat,” 
said Kourrian, symbolically suiting the action 
to the word. 

“Miaou, miaou!” mewed Polly Wheedles, 
jumping on the bed and glaring at Kourrian. 

Smith picked her up and followed Kourrian, 
who had a superstitious horror of cats. 

Tomkins Pasha threw an extra blanket over 
Crane, and sat down to read the report. 

“ Hum,” he said, thoughtfully, after making 
a few alterations. “Hawtrey will be back 
here to-morrow. I’ll send him in with it to 
the palace. I have purposely made it utterly 
misleading. How, if the Pussians get hold 
of it, I wish them joy. When I do the real 
report, I will hand it to the Sultan myself. 
Kourrian and his gang will be thrown out 
this time.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


EETEIBTJTION 

When Crane awoke the next morning he 
was in his own bed again, with Polly Whee- 
dles reposefully purring on the coverlet. Had 
it not been for a splitting headache, he would 
have felt none the worse for his adventure. 
Indeed, he remembered little about it until his 
eye fell on the broken window, through which 
the warm sun shone merrily upon Polly Whee- 
dles’s glossy coat. Suddenly he put his hand 
beneath the pillow, and started up with a loud 
cry. The papers were gone. 

“ It’s all right, sir,” said Smith, running in 
from the adjoining room. The General got 
the papers himself last night. If it hadn’t 
been for me, though, he’d have been too late,” 
he added, darkly glaring at an imaginary foe. 
“That there Kourrian was up to his ’anky- 
panky again. He did ought to be in clink and 
doing time. What do you think he tried to 
do last night?” 


144 


Crane put both hands to his throbbing tem- 
ples, and sank back with a groan. 

“That’s all right, sir. I often get a head 
like that on me in the morning. You wait a 
minute.” Smith rushed off, and returned with 
a big cup of tea. “Swig this off, sir, and 
you’ll feel better. Tve laced it with brandy. 
As I said just now, if it hadn’t been for me 
last night, you wouldn’t be able to drink noth- 
ing at all.” 

“ I do remember something about it,” said 
Crane, faintly. “What’s given me such an 
infernal headache. Smith ?” 

“ That there Kourrian and his mangal,” said 
Smith, reproachfully. “ I’d mangal him if I 
had my way. I didn’t think you were such 
an innocent, sir, as to let him go and char- 
coal you to death with a half- burnt -up 
mangal.” 

“But it wasn’t half burnt up; it burned 
brightly. I remember distinctly. I went to 
sleep. Somebody crashed in; and that’s all.” 

Smith came to the foot of the bed, and al- 
lowed Polly Wheedles to nibble his ear. 

“ I suspicioned something was up last night, 
sir, when Kourrian tried to make me drunk. 
Me !” said Smith, with virtuous indignation. 
“ Tried to make me drunk, he did ! The cheek 


145 


of that there Harmenian, thinking to make 
me drunk, when a whole hussar regiment has 
tried and had to give it up. I saw through his 
game, though. When he thought I was pretty 
bad, he wanted me to go and see the Himaum, 
just to get me out of the way. I stopped 
longer than I meant to do, and Kourrian must 
have slipped back again. Don’t you think 
that there Harmenian’s had about enough 
rope, sir ? The General’s going to shoot him 
next time anything queer happens. Wish 
he’d done it last night. Everybody knows 
the fellow’s a blasted spy. He’ll play us all 
some dirty trick afore we get rid of him, you 
mark my words, sir.” 

“D’ you think he put something into the 
mangal to stupefy me, Smith ? I noticed his 
back was towards me when he carried it to a 
corner of the room.” 

Smith nodded. “ In course, sir. That was 
his little game. He meant to suffocate you, 
sneak in somehow, and bolt with the papers. 
Oh, the General’s going dotty not to settle him 
while he’s got the chance.” 

“ I suppose there’s some reason for it,” said 
Crane, reluctantly rising. “ Tell Halil to bring 
in my tub. I shall feel better as soon as I get 
into the open air.” 

10 


146 


You hurry up, sir,” observed Smith, with 
a wink, and you’ll see my iam party.” 

“Your what?” 

“ My jam party, sir. I’ve got a competition 
on this morning, just to celebrate our return 
to the ’appy old ’ome.” 

“ A what ?” 

“A competition, sir. Them as eats most 
jam in the shortest time gets a colored ’anky- 
cher.” 

Smith refused to explain further ; but the 
mystery was solved a little later on. Assisted 
by Halil, he had placed two long planks over a 
couple of boxes about a foot from the ground, 
and facing each other. On a deal table at the 
end of the room was a huge mound of slices 
of bread and jam, and, facing each other, sat 
gravely expectant rows of baggy-breeched lit- 
tle Turkish boys and girls. At a signal from 
Smith, Halil placed a slice of bread and jam 
in each little girl’s hands, while Smith himself 
attended to the boys. 

“ This chap’s got to eat two slices, because 
he’s the champion,” explained Smith, pointing 
to a boy about as broad as he was long, whose 
beautiful, soft, brown eyes were almost start- 
ing out of his head with excitement. 

“He won’t win this time,” continued Smith, 


147 


confidently surveying his work. “He ain’t 
in good training, and can’t make up his mind 
which to bite first, pore little beggar ; the 
others ’ll have him on toast. I’ve got the 
mothers down there in the courtyard, sir, 
waiting to know who ’s won. They’re jabber- 
ing away in their own langwidge, in a great 
state about it.” 

“ But where did you get the jam ?” asked 
Tomalyn, preventing a little rosy-cheeked girl 
from choking herself. 

“ The General gave me a couple of tins, sir, 
and I made the bread myself. Hi ! Yavash ! 
yavash ! — it means ‘ gently,’ sir and Smith 
patted a little girl on the back until her henna- 
tipped fingers ceased to convulsively paw the 
air. “ Blest if the wimming aren’t a-coming 
up, sir. The champion’s won again. Here’s 
your handkerchief, young un. Haidee-git, 
and tell your mammy.” 

The squat little fellow toddled up to Smith, 
gravely kissed the hem of his coat, and was 
borne' away in triumph by his fond mother 
and a bevy of laughing, yashmak - shrouded 
girls, who shrank away in mock alarm directly 
they caught sight of Tomalyn’s youthful feat- 
ures. 

“ They don’t mind seeing me, sir, ’cause 


148 


they think ^ Allah ’s with me,’ ” explained 
Smith. 

“ What does that mean 
Oh, it’s a polite way of saying I’m cracked, 
dotty, gone balmy on the crumpet,” replied 
Smith, gathering up the remains of the feast. 
“That’s why they’ll let me have anything I 
want in the village. How, sir, you get out 
in the fresh air. It’s more wholesome than 
here.” 

Crane nodded to Smith, and carried one of 
the little girls down-stairs on his shoulder. His 
sudden appearance was the signal for the rap- 
id dispersion of the village girls and women, 
the better-looking of whom artfully contrived 
to let fall their yashmaks as they fled, while 
the ugly ones, with commendable wisdom, 
turned their faces to the wall until the giaour 
giujpeh (infldel dog) had passed. In this posi- 
tion, they looked exactly like huge bolsters set 
up on one end to be aired. The little girl he 
was carrying toddled off with an orange, and 
Tomalyn turned his leisurely steps towards 
the meidan. 

Close to the mosque Crane found the “ hold 
Himaum” sitting on a block of stone and 
leisurely poisoning the ambient air with 
Smith’s shag. He was a venerable man, clad 


149 


in a loose, flowing robe of red. The vivid 
hues of this picturesque garment were toned 
down by broad masses of transparent shadow 
from the mosque, whose lofty minaret raised 
its galleries to heaven, as if soaring into the 
tender blue. A soft west wind rustled the 
leaves of the planes. From the open windows 
of the little school, with its subdued hum 
of busy scholars, flew newly arrived swallows, 
eager to repair their nests high up on the 
corners of the whitewashed room. Here and 
there a bright-tinted woman glided noiseless- 
ly out of the sunlight into the shadow of the 
fountain, while the Imaum, lost in pious ab- 
straction, dreamily smoked one of Smith’s old 
“ churchwardens ” and let the world go by. 

Presently the Imaum made room for Toma- 
lyn beside him, and, with Turkish gravity, 
offered him a pipe. 

For a few seconds Tomalyn struggled po- 
litely with the horrible tobacco, and then 
handed it back again. It was a little after 
noon, and time for the namaz^ or call to 
prayer. After making a sign to Tomalyn to 
remain, the old man laid aside his pipe, and 
disappeared into the mosque. Soon he was 
high above the earth, uttering ejaculatory 
sentences of praise. He seemed to be calling 


150 


Tomalyn to come out from the world into 
the blue ether. He returned in a quarter of 
an hour, mechanically fingering his tessbih^ or 
bead chaplet, consisting of ninety-nine beads, 
each one recalling some divine attribute of 
the Almighty. 

‘‘I wonder whether he is going to speak 
to me thought Tomalyn, with a feeling of 
boyish admiration for the clear-cut, venerable 
features, enshrouded in masses of white hair. 

Presently the Imaum laid down his pipe, 
and began to make expressive signs, talking 
the while in slow, musical sentences, which 
gradually became more abrupt and excited. 
He rose from his seat, Avalked a little way off, 
and returned as if carrying a heavy weight. 
Then he put down his imaginary burden, 
shook something into it, reclined on his seat, 
appeared to go asleep, and Avoke up Avith a 
start, his features Avorking as if he Avere half 
choked. To this expressive pantomime, he 
added warning gestures and another voluble 
fiow of Turkish. 

“You mean Kourrian?” asked Tomalyn, 
grasping the meaning of the old man’s ec- 
centric proceedings. 

The Imaum nodded, and indulged in more 
pantomimic gestures. 


151 


“ Kourrian ! That there Harmenian bad 
man — dam bad man,” he said, solemnly, with 
such an accurate reproduction of Smith’s voice 
that Tomalyn had no difficulty whatever in 
recognizing the source of this questionable 
English. “ Dam bad man !” And the Imaum 
drew an imaginary knife from his shawl- 
girdle, where reposed a writing -tube and 
reed pens, and made a suggestive movement 
with it. 

Tomalyn understood now. The old man 
meant to imply that his chances of seeing the 
world would soon be put an end to by the 
Armenian. The lad waxed angry. "Who was 
Kourrian that he should dog him at every 
turn! The Armenian had twice attempted 
to murder an inoffensive Englishman ; it was 
really time that some one endeavored to mur- 
der this exceedingly offensive Armenian. 

Tomalyn bowed courteously to the village 
priest and turned away. Just as he enter- 
ed the courtyard, a cry from the old man 
reached his ears. Kourrian had emerged from 
the back of the mosque, knocked the priest 
down, and was now belaboring the poor fel- 
low with a thick stick. 

“The Lord hath delivered this Armenian 
into my hands, now that my headache has 


152 


gone,” quoth Tomalyn. “ It really seems as 
if I, who am naturally so peaceable, should be 
destined to get into rows. Wonder whether 
the brute can box ? Pve had enough of duel- 
ling. Of a verity, there is nothing like the 
noble art of self-defence.” 

He reached the spot, his eyes shining with 
the light of battle, and knocked away the 
stick. 

“ How then, Kourrian, enough of that ; put 
up your hands.” 

I am punishing this old dog for traducing 
me to you, Effendi,” whined the astonished 
Kourrian. ‘‘Just as we were such friends, 
too !” 

“Put up your hands,” curtly answered Crane. 

“I should not like to hurt the Effendi.” 
Kourrian’s eyes sparkled venomously. He 
looked round for a way of escape. There 
was none. 

“ Oh, I’ll take my chance of that. How, 
you scoundrel, put up your hands, and the 
Lord have mercy on your soul, if you’ve got 
one !” 

The battered old Imaum filled the air with 
wails, as Tomalyn, in all the exuberance of 
pugnacious youth, danced round his some- 
what stolid adversary, tapping him lightly at 


153 


all points, just as a foretaste of what might 
be expected in the near future. Suddenly 
Kourrian crouched, sprang under Tomalyn’s 
guard, and stabbed at him with a short, twist- 
ed dagger. 

“I expected something of the kind,” said 
Tomalyn, grimly, as he grasped Kourrian’s 
arm. “^Tow you shall have it, you cur!” 
One tremendous blow straight between the 
eyes, and the Armenian went down like a 
bullock. 

“ ‘ To the victors belong the spoils of war,’ ” 
quoted Tomalyn, picking up the dagger. 
“Wonder whether it’s poisoned? Most like- 
ly. Oh, here’s the sheath. They threw water 
over me last night. ISTow to retaliate on this 
beauty. It seems, it really does, as if the good 
Kourrian and I are not destined to be friends. 
Fortunately for me, though they wouldn’t let 
me ride at home, they didn’t prevent my hav- 
ing boxing-lessons.” 

He went to the fountain, picked up an old 
kerosene oil-can, filled it with sparkling water, 
and soused the senseless Armenian. After the 
third application Kourrian opened his eyes and 
grunted. “He’s all right now,” thought Crane, 
as Smith came running up. “But I must have 
hit him pretty hard.” 


154 


' “What’s the matter, sir?” asked Smith. 
“ Shall I have a go at him ? I’ve been want- 
ing to tap his claret for months.” 

“Oh no, Smith; I don’t think he’s well 
enough. Kourrian would seem to have met 
with an accident. We had the misfortune to 
differ about his ill-treating our mutual friend 
the Imaum, and — and I’m really afraid he’s 
hurt himself.” 

“Bless the Lord for that, anyway!” said 
Smith, who was not usually given to pious 
ejaculations. “ This ought to make the place 
too hot to bold him now, sir, when you tell 
the General.” 

“Ah, but I’m not going to tell the Gen- 
eral,” answered Tomalyn, gayly. “As mat- 
ters stand, it’s much safer to have the fellow 
here, under one’s own eyes. You see, if he 
gets back to town without us, he can just wait 
until we go in. There is an absurd law of the 
Pera Municipality that after ten at night ev- 
ery European must carry a little lantern with 
a candle lighted in it. Yery well. Say I 
go out to dinner. Our friend here gets 
behind a convenient buttress, waits until I 
pass, and then, aided by my lantern, plants 
a knife between my shoulders. E'o, thank 
you. Halil will take him back to the house. 


155 


He’ll be all right by the time the Pasha re- 
turns.” 

Smith shook his head. “ I don’t like it, sir 
— I don’t like it. These Harmenians never 
forgives a blow. Colonel Hawtrey kicked him 
out of the room one day, and he got hold of 
the Colonel’s sword and so fixed it that it flew 
out of the scabbard as the Colonel went down 
Step Street. "When the Colonel tried to pick 
it up his foot slipped, and, somehow, the sword 
ran into his thigh. I know Eourrian did it, 
acause, Avhen the news came in, he went down 
on his knees in the corner of my kitchen and 
sang a Harmenian song, thanking God for 
punishing his enemies. Nice one, he is, to 
thank God for anything, ain’t he, sir ?” added 
Smith, with concentrated disgust. “ What 
with him and the widow at Pancaldi, my 
chances of a green old age are growing less 
every day. Get up, you dirty brute!” to 
Kourrian. ‘‘ You can’t lie there all day. The 
property don’t belong to you.” 

Kourrian crawled to Tomalyn’s feet, and 
tried to kiss them. He looked uglier than 
ever with a big swelling on his forehead. 

“ The Effendi has punished me for my sins ; 
and we were such friends, too.” 

Smith hauled him up b}^ the collar. Can’t 


156 


have you spoiling our best blacking in this 
way. We’re such friends that we ain’t agoin’ 
to let you out of our sight, you beauty. Here, 
Halil, yank him into the house, and if you 
catch him praying for misfortunes to overtake 
us, just run and let me know. He’ll find me 
a misfortune that’ll overtake him, and that 
precious quick, too.” 

Halil, comprehending from Smith’s extend- 
ed finger what was required of him, gleefully 
hauled the helpless Kourrian away as if he had 
been a sack of potatoes. 

Ah, sir, it’s a pity you can’t talk the 
langwidge,” said Smith. “Your knuckles 
seem swelling a bit, sir. ’It ’is ’ead pretty 
’ard ?” 

“ It was like a brick wall. Smith, I believe 
we"re all bloodthirsty brutes at heart. That 
little brush has done me lots of good. He’s 
stronger than I . am, though.” 

Smith looked admiringly at Tomalyn’s 
bruised knuckles. 

“ Ah, sir, it’s science as does it. A bullock’s 
strong, but if he ’ain’t got no science, where is 
he? In the shambles, precious quick.” 

“ Don’t talk of shambles. Smith, or we may 
find ourselves there very shortly.” 

The Iraaum came up to Tomalyn with a 


157 


grateful prostration and flow of soft, musical 
words. 

“The hold ITimaum says, sir,” explained 
Smith, “ that you’re a Booster (? Eustem), and 
that there Kourrian’s the grandson of a lady 
as wasn’t all she ought to have been, and that 
he takes after his grandmother. The Hi- 
maum’s going to watch over you night and 
day, and buy himself a knife, sir.” 

Tomalyn handed the old gentleman a couple 
of Turkish lire. 

“ Tell him. Smith, here’s some money with 
which to do it. Bow, we’ll go and get my 
window mended.” 


CHAPTER IX 


GORCHOFF EXPLAINS 

One afternoon, a month later, Gorchoff un- 
obtrusively sauntered along the muddy Grande 
Kue de Pera in the direction of the Hotel 
Koyal. It was about a quarter to four, and 
he filled up the intervening fifteen minutes 
by feeding the street dogs as he went along. 
While he was crumbling biscuit for a mass of 
little pups that dwelt under a doorstep in close 
proximity to the British Embassy, a young 
Kussian officer strode past and kicked the old 
dog out of his way. In an instant Gorchoff, 
with surprising strength, had the officer by the 
collar, and flung him against the wall. The 
Kussian, dazed by the suddenness of the at- 
tack, hesitated for a moment, then drew his 
sword, and was about to rush upon his elderly 
opponent. 

Gorchoff quietly said a few words in Kus- 
sian, and the young officer became livid. 

“ You — you !” he stammered. Your Ex — ” 


159 


Gorchoff stopped him with an imperious 
wave of the hand. 

Cease to molest my dogs in future, lieuten- 
ant, or you may find yourself promoted to a 
post in — Siberia.” 

This incident appeared to put GorchofiP in 
a very good temper. He smiled inscrutably, 
flicked a grain of dirt from his varnished shoe, 
and leisurely walked on, leaving the young 
officer leaning against the wall with a crest- 
fallen air and a general slackness in the joints 
which was almost ludicrous. 

Gorchofi continued his way to the Hotel 
Koyal, paused a moment on the steps to be- 
nevolently gaze upon the view, as if taking 
that also under his protection, and inquired 
for Miss Ulverstone in excellent English. 

Miss Ulverstone had a fine, white Persian 
cat on her lap. Directly Gorchoff appeared 
the cat began to rub herself amicably against 
the Eussian’s legs. There was something in 
the expression of his eyes which betokened his 
fondness for animals. 

“Won’t you have some tea?” asked Miss 
Ulverstone, pleasantly. “ You are just in time, 
before it becomes spoiled.” 

“ Pardon me if I suggest a variation of the 
usual preparation,” Gorchoff answered, draw- 


160 


ing a little box from his pocket. “ Try mine. 
One pinch of this — it was given me by a Per- 
sian merchant in return for saving his life — is 
worth exactly a Turkish pound.” He took a 
small spoon from the inside of the box, ladled 
out a little of the tea into two cups, and filled 
them up with boiling water. “Allow me,” he 
said, handing one of the cups to Miss Ulver- 
stone, as a delicious fragrance filled the room. 

“ It isn’t — ?” 

“Hurtful? Oh no.” He swallowed hjs own 
to reassure her. “ There is no charcoal in it. 
Miss Ulverstone.” 

He put down the cup, without appearing 
to notice what effect his words had produced 
upon her, and fondled the cat. His surmise 
was correct. Miss Ulverstone knew all about 
the charcoal incident, for she blushed slight- 
ly, and drank her tea with unnecessary slow- 
ness. 

“Don’t you think,” continued Gorchoff, 
patting the cat, “that our young friend is 
rather rash, Miss Ulverstone ? He seems to 
be continually getting into scrapes of one 
sort or another.” 

“You forget — nay, nay; I insist on your 
having some of my tea. Monsieur Gorchoff — 
that he is little more than a lad. Youth must 


161 


have its day. ITone of us cau suddenly attain 
wisdom. We do not all live in Eussia.’’ 

Gorchoff continued to play with the cat. 
‘‘They say the contact is good for rheuma- 
tism, and I am very infirm,” he explained. 
“What was I saying? Oh yes; it is doubt- 
less good for youth to have its day, but the 
characteristic feature of youth now is that it 
wants every one else’s day also. I don’t think 
Constantinople suits Mr. Crane.” 

“In what way? He was here yesterday, 
and seems to have been strong enough to 
thrash that wretch — ” 

“ It is always wiser never to mention 
names,” said Gorchoff. “There are Arme- 
nian spies all over the place. The air of Con- 
stantinople is dangerous for Englishmen just 
now. They are apt to lose blood.” 

Miss Hlverstone fully understood the hint. 
“ Oh, but most Englishmen thrive on danger,” 
she said, quietly. “ I have tried to persuade 
Mr. Crane that the atmosphere here is an 
unhealthy one. How, I think it my duty to 
ask him to endure it.” 

Gorchoff gave the cat’s neck a little rub. 
“Indeed? Why?” 

“ Oh, for a very simple reason. Two lumps 
of sugar, I think? Isn’t it better to die at 
11 


162 


one’s post, if need be, than to run away and 
rust in oblivion ? That is why I should like to 
be a man. Women never have such opportu- 
nities. Men can act ; women can only dream.” 

“Living men — charming cat this is! — can 
act. Miss Ulverstone, but not dead ones. If 
you have any influence over our young friend, 
you will do well to get him away. He is in 
danger of being wrecked, body and soul.” 

“ Why do you tell me this ? I did not know 
that you were a philanthropist.” 

“ Partly because I like you very much, 
partly because it is essential that this hot- 
headed lad should not be near his chief just 
now. He is an obstacle in a great many peo- 
ple’s way. The servant is generally drunk ; 
and it is time that the Pasha had a fresh sec- 
retary; this one knows too much. Of course, 
you understand that I am speaking conflden- 
tially.” 

“ If you seal my lips, how can I induce Mr. 
Crane to go away ?” 

“ Oh, you are at liberty to explain that the 
‘committee’ gives him a choice of going. 
Presently it may be too late.” 

“ What is this ‘ committee ’ ?” 

“ Oh, there is no harm in telling you, be- 
cause you English people will never betray a 


163 


guest. It is a small but powerful secret so- 
ciety, the object of which is to work out the 
freedom of Armenia from Turkish oppression. 
Kussia intends to help the Armenians some 
day, when it suits her to do so — conditionally, 
of course. As a preliminary step, it is neces- 
sary for us to know all about the fortifications 
which protect Constantinople. In the inter- 
ests of Armenia, it may become indispensable 
for us to occupy Constantinople. That pig- 
headed Englishman, Tomkins Pasha, is per- 
fectly well aware that he stands alone ; that 
he will be betrayed by his own colleagues; 
that the Sultan is merely using his great mil- 
itary knowledge, and will then discard him 
when he can be of no further use ; and yet 
money cannot buy Tomkins Pasha. I can 
buy men of any other nationality by the 
handful. But an Englishman — no. Though 
they love money, they won’t earn it by 
treachery. Fools ! Money can do every- 
thing in the world ; it rules the world ; it is 
not only the means of living, but life itself.” 

He continued to stroke the cat with a cyn- 
ical smile. 

‘‘ You see, I am perfectly frank with you,” 
he said, blandly. “ I show my hand with the 
most convincing sincerity. Then you will 


164 


imagine that I am telling you nothing but 
lies.” 

Miss Ulverstone smiled faintly. The man’s 
wickedness appalled her as he sat there strok- 
ing her aunt’s pampered cat. 

“And I really thought I liked you, Mon- 
sieur Gorchoff ! Shall you be offended if I 
tell you that you are simply a spy, or political 
agent, whichever is the least offensive term of 
the two 

“ Oh, my dear Miss Ulverstone, we will not 
quarrel about words. Call me what you like. 
I have to serve the interests of my Imperial 
master in my own country. This is the only 
way I can do it. Do you suppose that I allow 
any consideration of so-called humanity to 
stand in my way ? I employ these Armenians 
as my tools. They think, the fools, that they 
are using me ; but I am behind them all the 
time, and behind me, if I fail, is — Siberia. Si- 
beria is always a powerful stimulant to a Eus- 
sian. Now do you see why our young friend 
must be removed ?” 

“ I should respect you more as a failure in 
Siberia than as a success in Constantinople. 
Why do you tell me all this ? I could go to 
our ambassador and baffle you in five min- 
utes.” 


165 


“I don’t often make mistakes,” continued 
Gorchoff, giving the cat a morsel of bread and 
butter. “ You know very well I have guess- 
ed your infatuation for Tomalyn Crane, and, 
therefore, that you are as much bound to re- 
spect my secret as a penitent expects a priest 
to respect the disclosures of the confessional. 
You are aware that I have a kindly feeling 
for you ; you are such a good girl, and I like 
goodness — in the abstract. In its concrete 
form it is so terribly inconvenient. Warn 
this young fool that he had better go home. 
If it were not for you, he should not have 
even this warning. Poison, the cord, the dag- 
ger, are swift and infallible means to get rid 
of a man out here. There are also others 
by which no one will conceal from all men 
the secret of his taking off. I am perfectly 
cognizant of the reason why he does not want 
to leave Constantinople. I — ” 

“Stop! How dare you? Don’t say any 
more. You presuppose that I am sufficiently 
interested in Mr. Crane to warn him of your 
schemes, but you don’t know how little influ- 
ence i have over him.” 

“ You love him,” returned Gorchoff, in quiet, 
matter-of-fact tones, as if the subject did not 
even admit of discussion ; “ and a woman who 


166 


loves a man always influences him for good or 
evil — generally for evil. Pardon me for the 
brutality of the suggestion, but you would not 
look well in black, with red eyes.” 

The girfls eyes flashed. ‘‘You had better 
go. Monsieur Gorchoff. Englishwomen don’t 
weep ; they avenge. Pm not afraid of you. I 
don’t believe in your secret power, but I do 
believe in the God above us, although the 
strongest reason against such a belief is the 
fact that He permits such men as you to 
exist. I would rather stand by and see Mr. 
Crane die than leave him to live under such 
influences as those with which you are con- 
spiring against him. I don’t want to put it 
into words ; but you know well enough what I 
mean. Let me give you some more tea before 
I request you never to call on me again. You 
have added bitterness enough to my cup. This 
one of yours shall be sweet for the moment. 
You must be such a very lonely old man, with 
Death ready to seize you in the midst of all 
your schemes, that I pity you. Death visits 
even Siberia.” 

Gorchoff continued to play with the cat as 
if his one wish in life were to minister to its 
happiness. But when she handed him the cup 
he took it rather sadly. 


167 


I admit nothing and deny nothing more 
than I have already told you,” he said. The 
wisest thing you could do would be to leave 
Constantinople yourself. There are always 
good works to fall back upon, though they are 
generally the last resource of the wicked.” He 
put down the cup. ‘‘ And you always give me 
just the right amount of sugar. Since I left 
off drinking tea Kussian fashion no one has 
made it for me so nicely.” 

She took the empty cup, walked slowly to 
the fireplace, and fiung it beneath the grate. 

“I am going to protect Mr. Crane,” said 
she. “ Good — ” 

“ To what end ?” interrupted Gorchoff, soft- 
ly. “ He will never marry you. He could not 
understand the disinterestedness of so ugly a 
girl.” 

‘‘ Ho ; I know that. I am too ugly. He 
worships loveliness.” 

Gorchoff looked at her critically. “ I know 
how it could be remedied. But it would cost 
you three or four thousand pounds. There is 
one man in Constantinople who could perform 
such an operation, and only one. His price 
would be high.” 

She put her hands to her face. “Don’t 
tempt me ! Don’t tempt me ! I won’t hear 


168 


you. I tell you I won’t hear you. I am ugly, 
and shall always be so. There is no help for 
it. No help ! No help !” 

He was about to say something, but held it 
back, as if reluctant to play a trump card. 
And yet he liked the girl’s transparent honesty 
of purpose, her courage, her purity of thought 
and mind, her steadfast belief that right must 
triumph over wrong, and that all would ulti- 
mately be well with the world. 

‘‘If you would only listen,” he began. 
“ Here is a card which you may like to use 
some day. The man is a world-renowned 
specialist, and can alter your skin at the cost 
of an operation, which is not serious in itself. 
I—” 

“ Monsieur Crane,” announced a Greek 
waiter. 

Crane entered, bubbling over with good 
spirits. “I’ve come to ask a favor of you. 
Miss Ulverstone,” he began. Then he caught 
sight of Gorchoff, and stopped. 

“ How are you ?” genially smiled GorchoJBP. 
“ You remind me of one of Ouida’s heroes 
bringing the customary sack of turquoises 
and rubies to the heroine.” He pointed to a 
good-sized, soft leather bag which Tomalyn 
carried in one hand. 


V 


169 


“ You forget,” smiled Miss Ulverstone, that 
I am no heroine. Won’t you let the cat out 
of the bag, Mr. Crane ?” 

Tomalyn untied a string round the mouth 
of the bag, and slid its contents upon the 
floor. 

“I’ve been gambling at the Concordia,” he 
said, unashamed, “ and have brought you the 
money. Miss Ulverstone, for those poor beg- 
gars on the bridge. The fellow with the 
mouth at the back of his head will grin it 
right round again when he sees this, and the 
three-legged man dance for joy.”f 

“ Aren’t you ashamed to win money in this 
way?” 

“ Not a bit,” said Tomalyn, cheerfully. “A 
man who can win money in a Constantinople 
silver-hell deserves it. If you could have seen 
the greasy scoundrels at the roulette - table 
you’d have won all you could. It was awful- 
ly exciting. Smith put me up to it. ‘ If you 
want a little flutter, sir,’ he informed me, ‘ you 
just go to the Concordia and hang about one 
of the passages a bit. I’U come along, too, 
with a revolver, in case that there Harmeni- 
an’s about, and we’ll spoil the Egyptians.’ ” 

“ Well,” asked Gorchoff, slowly, “ what 
happened ?” 


170 


‘‘ Yes, two lumps, please, Miss Ulverstone; 

I’m awfully thirsty. We went into the pas- 
sage with about a pound of silver in our pock- 
ets — they’re only ‘ silver - hells,’ you know, 
Miss Ulverstone — and a fellow showed us the 
way behind the scenes, after Smith had given 
him a medjidieh. Then we came to a room 
where the — the lady performers were smoking 
and drink — Oh, we’ll skip that. Miss Ulver- 
stone.” 

‘‘Yes,” she said, somewhat severely, “I 
think that, in the interest of propriety, it 
might be as well. Gentlemen ought not to 
be seen in such a place.” 

“ Oh, they don’t want to be seen, but they 
all go there,” replied Tomalyn, with a light- 
hearted laugh. “ You’d have been quite as 
much surprised as I was could you have seen 
old—” 

Miss Ulverstone put her hands to her ears. 

“ You all ought to be ashamed of yourselves.” 

“That’s what I thought,” continued the 
unabashed Tomalyn. “I tried hard to feel 
ashamed of myself, but I wasn’t a bit. It 
didn’t seem real, somehow, until one of the 
girls fainted, and they had to cut her stays 
(they went off with a bang like the pop of a ^ 
pistol) because she was so tightly la — Oh, I 


171 


beg your pardon, Miss Ulverstone, but you 
would insist upon hearing.” 

I think we have got over the worst now,” 
said Miss Ulverstone. 

“ The singers didn’t look a bit pretty, poor 
things,” continued Tomalyn. “ They had 
great patches of paint and powder, and tar- 
nished dresses. And they smoked, and they 
drank, and they swore little French oaths 
at the elite of Constantinopolitan society, 
and — ” 

“ ’Never mind that,” said Gorchoff. “ What 
happened next ?” 

“We went into a room where there was a 
roulette-table, and plunged recklessly. Some 
one asked if I had ever played before. When 
I said ‘hlo,’ they all followed me. I won 
nearly every time. Just as I had got about 
twenty pounds — all in silver, mind you — 
Pentley Pidge came up, took me by the ear, 
as if I’d been a child, and said, ‘ Now, then, 
youngster, get out of this, and go home to 
bed.’ ” He laughed again. 

“ Well?” asked Miss Ulverstone, eagerly. 

“ I felt awfully ashamed, then, somehow,” 
continued the lad. “Then I thought if we 
gave the money to the beggars on the bridge 
it would be all right. The men at the table 


172 


seemed quite disappointed when Eidge inter- 
fered ; they asked me to come again.” 

And what was Pentley Eidge doing in 
that horrid place?” asked Miss Ulverstone. 

Did he talk to ladies who — who swore at 
him?” 

“ Oh, he was looking like a kind of Mephis- 
topheles in evening dress. I felt as a boy does 
when he’s sent for to the head-master’s study. 
And yet I enjoyed it tremendously. You can’t 
think what it is all like. Miss Ulverstone.” 

‘‘Eo, I certainly can’t, and I don’t want 
to,” said Miss Ulverstone, rather acridly. 

“ The light and the heat and the noise ; the 
popping of the champagne corks ; the sharp, 
metallic voices of the men at the table ; the 
ghastly, yet painted, faces of the girls ; the for- 
lorn gayety — and the tragedy — of the whole 
thing. Smith won a lot too.” 

‘‘And what did he do with his win- 
nings ?” 

“Oh, he’s a good fellow, so he went and 
bought a huge packet of shag for ‘ the hold 
Himaum’ and himself to smoke at Eakatch- 
keui ; then he disappeared. Of course I 
oughtn’t to have won this, Miss Ulverstone; 
but I think I scooped the beggars pretty well. 
If you’ll be kind enough to put on your hat 


173 


presently, we’ll go down to the bridge and 
make atonement.” 

“And you will play again?” asked Gor- 
choff, curiously. 

“ I ? Oh dear, no. They’d be sure to rook 
me next time. Once is quite enough for that 
kind of thing. You don’t want to be ashamed 
when you’re writing home,” continued the in- 
genuous youth. 

Gorcholf looked a little disappointed, but 
Miss Ulverstone smiled. The lad had a soul 
above vulgar dissipation. 

“But I interrupted you,” said Tomalyn, 
looking longingly at the sugar-bowl. “ Might 
I have another lump. Miss Ulverstone ? Tom 
Thumb ’s beggared me in sugar. I’ve all I can 
do to keep him supplied.” 

“"We were talking about transforming the 
features for — for purposes of disguise. It can 
be done,” said Gorchoif, cruelly. 

“ I dare say,” replied Tomalyn, indiffer- 
ently ; “ but a poor beggar must be jolly 
hard up to have himself changed in that 
way. You won’t come and help us to give 
alms ?” 

Miss Ulverstone laughed a little feverishly. 
“ I think we must go alone, Mr. Crane. Mon- 
sieur Gorchoff, though an old man, is not yet 


174 


fit to have his feet embraced by the poor.” 
And she left the room. 

What the dickens did she mean by that V- 
asked Tomalyn, kneeling on the fioor in order 
to collect his silver. 

Gorchoff smiled ; he seldom laughed. “ Oh, 
it is a way women have. She meant that at 
my time of life I was too besmirched to be 
worthy of even a beggar’s embrace.” 

Are you ?” Tomalyn poised a medjidieh 
on his forefinger with wondering curiosity. 
Gorchoff was now only a poor old man to him 
— an object of pity and compassion, who had 
failed to retain Mrs. Brangwyn’s love, because 
he did not deserve it. 

I shall be a little more before I die, and so 
will you when you are hard pressed.” 

The lad threw up his head, and dropped the 
coin on the fioor. 

“Fancy the sweetness of the world being 
thrown away on you like that ! The angels 
will have a lot to do to cleanse most of us.” 
He spoke quite seriously, as if the problem had 
just suggested itself. “Would you mind mov- 
ing a little ? Thanks. There’s a medjidieh under 
your foot. Mustn’t rob the poor, you know.” 

“Have you seen Mrs. Brangwyn lately?” 
abruptly asked Gorchoff. 


175 


“No. It isn’t actually necessary to see 
people — ” 

“ Then you write ?” 

Tomalyn was about to answer sharply that 
he did not do anything of the sort, but some- 
thing in Gorchoff’s face checked him. 

“We don’t see much of each other,” he 
said, tying up the bag. 

Gorchoff watched the two go down to the 
bridge, and turned away. 

“ Fools !” he muttered. “ Mrs. Brangwyn 
must take him in hand again, and that quick- 
ly. With a copy of Tomkins’s report, the 
Czar will be master of the situation. I have 
found out how much the}^ both know. If that 
Miss Ulverstone were pretty I might fear her. 
But who ever heard of a good, ugly woman 
successfully rivalling a beautiful, bad one ?” 

He went slowly away in the direction of the 
Kue Yenedik, pushing aside the remembrance 
of Tomalyn’s bright, handsome face, as it 
seemed still to look up at him from the car- 
pet. 

“ A boy’s life ! What is that ? Nothing. I 
must hunt out the Borgia receipt for fruit, 
and give it to Kourrian.” 

Meanwhile, Tomalyn and Miss Ulverstone 
distributed largesse to the halt and the 


176 


maimed and the blind on the bridge, while 
the poor girl inwardly prayed that the act 
might be accounted to Tomalyn for righteous- 
ness. 

‘‘You don’t feel afraid?” she asked, as they 
turned homeward, attended by mercenary 
blessings. 

“ Afraid ? Of what ?” 

“ Gorchoff. I can’t say much; but beware 
of Gorchoff and — and his friends. If you 
don’t fear Gorchoff, aren’t you afraid of 
death?” 

The lad shivered a little. “ Hot if — if one 
hasn’t been altogether a bad lot,” he an- 
swered. “ Perhaps I oughtn’t to have hit 
the Armenian so hard, but the brute wanted 
to kill me.” 

“And you’ve forgiven him?” she asked, cu- 
riously. 

Tomalyn laughed. “ Forgiven him ! Oh, 
come. Miss IJlverstone, I’m not such a saint 
as that yet. He’s going to kill me if he gets 
a chance; I’m going to hammer him when- 
ever I get a chance, and so it’s about even. 
But I sha’n’t run away. The poor old chief 
trusts me. He has a great deal of confidence 
in my diplomatic skill,” added Tomalyn, 
proudly. “ If it really comes to a war with 


177 


Kussia, he’ll get me a commission in the 
Turkish service. Smith’s putting me through 
my facings splendidly. He says I’m a born 
fencer.” 

“ Ah, but so is Gorchoff, and he has much 
more finesse.” 

“ Oh, well,” said Tomalyn, with the happy 
arrogance of youth, “ he’s old and I’m young. 
I’m going to worry along all right if my 
friends will always believe the best of me.” 

‘‘ You know I never think unkind things 
about you.” 

“ I should be a cur if I didn’t feel how good 
and kind you’ve always been to me. Good- 
bye. I don’t feel like a dying man yet. For 
the last few days my spirits have been curi- 
ously high.” 

“ Good-bye. Be careful.” 

The lad showed her his revolver with great 
pride. “You’d be astonished at the holes I 
can bore with this little thing.” And he went 
away with his head in the air. 

The hideous tragedy hanging round the 
youngster filled Miss Ulverstone Avith hope- 
less pain. He could not possibly escape. If 
the Armenian bungled, Gorchoff would not. 
He was sure of his victim. Gorchoff did not 
look like a man Avho would make mistakes. 

12 


CHAPTEK X 


THE widow’s gift 

“I WANT to get out for a long ride this af- 
ternoon, Smith. It’s my last chance before 
we go into town to-morrow for the summer. 
Tell them to bring Tom Thumb round at 
three. I shall have finished copying out the 
General’s last chapter on Military Tactics be- 
fore then.” 

“ All right, Mr. Crane. Three, you said ?” 

‘‘ Three.” 

“ Yery well, sir. I’ll tell that there Halil 
to have Tom Thumb ready by two. Then 
you’ll get off nicely by three. It always 
takes these Turks an hour to make up their 
minds about anything. But, lor, sir! what 
can you expect from people as always gets up 
on a horse the wrong side, and thinks it dis- 
graceful to ride a mare ? They’re the upside- 
downiest and downside-uppedest folks on the 
face of the earth.” 

Oh, well, I can’t help that, Smith. Ac- 


179 


cording to them, we don’t know how to 
mount a horse. Are you getting everything 
ready packed for town? Better give Halil 
my dress things to take down to the train. 
If it is late, I can dress in an empty carriage. 
There’s a dance on at Mrs. Wyville Bains’s 
to-morrow night, and I’m engaged three deep. 
I must be there early.” 

“ AU right, sir. That there Halil ’s been 
wearing my best coat at a wedding in the vil- 
lage, over his own things, and he ain’t done it 
no good either,” grumbled Smith. “ Hice fig- 
ure I’ll look next time I go to Pancaldi.” 

Tomalyn paused, pen in hand. “ How’s the 
widow of Pancaldi, Smith ?” 

‘‘ I dunno, sir. She’s taken to prophesying 
and all that sort of rot. Says she’s seen 
some one as I knows dead on the floor. She’s 
what they call a second - sighter. Gets the 
office straight from Providence as to what’s 
going to happen, only she muddles it up so it 
don’t do nobody no good, ’cept make ’em un- 
comfortable,” said Smith, lugubriously. 

“ Ah, there are lots of people like her. Kour- 
rian seems to have given up his little dodges 
lately. That last talk with the Pasha must 
have frightened him.” 

“ The hold Himaum’s laid in a be-yew-ti-ful 


180 


knife with that money yon gave him, sir,” said 
Smith, gloomily. “ It’s a real treat to go and 
have a sociable smoke with him, and see him 
take it out and draw it across his own throat, 
just to let me know what’s coming. Sort of 
makes one’s spirits go up to bursting point. 
That there Harmenian’s been a good deal too 
quiet to be trusted lately. He’s always asking 
me if I don’t think him more beautiful than 
ever, now that bump on ’is ’ead’s gone down, 
and telling me he looks upon me as a brother. 
Why, sir, if I was brother to a chap like that, 
my own relations ’ud kick me into the street, 
and serve me right.” 

‘‘Nonsense, Smith; you’ve a touch of liver. 
I must get on with my work, or I sha’n’t be 
ready in time. Now then, Halil, what is it ?” 

Halil, with a grin, produced a letter and 
handed it to Smith. 

“ It’s addressed to me, sir,” said Smith, per- 
plexedly ; “but it’s in some foreign langwidge. 
Jlaidee-git^ Halil. Kourrian gitte like a streak 
of lightning. We’ll see if Kourrian can read 
it, sir. May as well get something useful out 
of him. Perhaps it’s a letter from Pancaldi, 
with some more joyful dreams about dead 
men.” 

“ It seems to be modern Greek,” said Toma- 


181 


lyn, glancing at the letter which Smith held 
towards him. “ My Greek is much too ancient 
to be of any use. Yes, get Kourrian to trans- 
late it for you. Kourrian, what is this letter 
about V’ 

“ It is from a lady,” said the greasy Arme- 
nian, his little piggish eyes twinkling. She 
is enamoured of the good Smith.” 

“What’s the name?” abruptly demanded 
Smith. 

“ Anna Kostraki.” 

“ It’s her, sir,” said Smith, reassured. “ The 
Pancaldi party I was telling you about. All 
right, Kourrian. What’s she got to say ?” 

“It is a love-letter,” answered the Arme- 
nian, with mock hesitation. 

“ Kever you mind what it is, you obey or- 
ders;” and Smith swelled with satisfaction. 
“ Can’t I have Greek ladies writing letters to 
me if Hike?” 

“ Oh yes,” said Kourrian, as if there were 
no accounting for taste — especially Greek 
taste. “ She says, Effendi, that the good Smith 
is the light of her soul.” 

Smith curled his mustache. 

“ And her dawn, and the west wind whisper- 
ing amid the olive-trees as the sun sinks to 
rest and the kine come lowing over the hills.” 


182 


“ Keal pretty way of putting things,” threw 
in Smith. 

“ She prays gray-eyed Pallas Athene,” con- 
tinued Kourrian, “to protect him when the 
ways are darkened, and he hath put from him 
all desire for meat and drink. Further, she 
pours out libations to Zeus, lest an evil and 
early death should come upon him in the 
flower of his age. He-he !” 

“ITone of your sniggering!” said Smith, 
fiercely. “ It takes a real lady, as is a lady, 
to write a letter like that. Let’s have the rest 
of it.” 

“But she has had dreams of ill, and her 
heart is sore afraid. Thrice hath a bird of 
ill -omen flown before her; thrice hath the 
death -light flamed and flickered in the can- 
dle. She is sore-stricken at heart, her eyelids 
heavy with tears ; and she sends you a gift of 
a pleasant savor to take away from you the 
fear of death. If you are lion-hearted, O man 
from over the seas, eat, and the omens shall 
be as naught.” 

“ I don’t know nothing about the Palace Athe- 
ney,” said Smith, “the Crystal Palace being 
more in my line ; but it takes a real lady to 
write a letter like that. Wonder what she’s 
sending ? Nothing ain’t come yet, Kourrian ?” 


183 


“Nothing,” said Kourrian. “Perhaps it 
will be a fine, fat turkey and he smacked 
his thick lips with gusto. 

Tomalyn laughed. “Mind, I shall expect 
a share,” he said to Smith. 

“ And me also,” added the Armenian, going 
back to his own quarters. 

A few hours later, when Smith came in to 
announce that Tom Thumb was ready, the 
widow’s gift had not arrived; so Tomalyn 
rode out of the court -yard with a laughing 
adieu to Smith, and a request that his share 
of the somewhat mythical turkey should be 
reserved for him. 

The little Arab was in a somewhat aggres- 
sive mood, and danced about so much that 
Crane had all he could do to keep him in 
hand, especially when they passed camels; 
for Tom Thumb, having been brought up on 
terms of friendly intimacy with camels, was 
much interested in hearing news from the 
desert, and manifested a frequent desire to in- 
spect the lengthy trains of these unwilling 
beasts as they plodded along, laden with pro- 
visions for soldiers at the fortifications. Most 
of the camels were great, shaggy, ungainly 
looking brutes, preceded by a driver mounted 
on an infinitesimal jackass, which patient ani- 


184 


mal invariably excited Tom Thumb’s dainty 
derision. After Tomalyn had coaxed Tom 
Thumb away from one train, they met an- 
other; the leading animal of which, instigated 
by Tom Thumb, made a snatch at the camel- 
driver’s left ear, but only succeeded in getting 
a mouthful of fez. The enraged driver wheeled 
his donkey round in dangerous proximity to 
the camel’s nose, and brought the whole train 
to a halt. Whereupon, Tomalyn opened his 
dictionary and proceeded to translate the 
flowers of rhetoric which fell from the driver’s 
lips. 

“O depraved offspring of a vicious sire,” 
began the driver, striking the camel forcibly 
on the nose, “ your mother was a shameless 
beast [whack !] ; your grandmother was worse 
than your mother [whack!]; your great-grand- 
mother was worse than your mother or your 
grandmother ; and your male ancestors were 
not even worth an old carpet [whack! whack! 
whack!].” 

“ Inshallah, but Selim is a wonderful man,” 
chorused another driver, coming up to smite 
the recalcitrant beast. ‘‘Allah is great, and 
Selim also. See the words of honey dropping 
from his lips.” 

But having ascertained all that he wanted 


185 


to know, Tom Thumb suddenly bolted away 
in a wild, stretching gallop ; and Tomalyn let 
him go, every nerve tingling with rapturous 
excitement and delight. The attendant sol- 
dier followed as fast as he could, his scab- 
bard striking his gray stallion’s flank. It was 
all the suwarfi could do to keep together his 
ragged, baggy, shapeless uniform. On one 
side of his head he wore the ugly, tasselled 
fez, which Sultan Mahmud bade true believ- 
ers substitute for the picturesque turban, the 
most beautiful of all Oriental headdresses. 
Presently, the soldier dropped his rifle; so 
Tomalyn had to pull up and wait while that 
picturesque, but tattered, individual got out of 
the saddle and did a few leisurely repairs to 
what was left of his trousers. 

The heat of the day had passed. Birds flew 
about in all directions, here and there snap- 
ping up an unwary butterfly which was strug- 
gling against the wind. The sky directly 
overhead was as clear and blue as that of 
Naples on a sunny day. Lower down on 
the horizon floated shades of faintest pink 
and sapphire, blending into marvellous mina- 
rets and towers and frowning heights. Still 
lower, small lakes became momentarily vis- 
ible, their scraggy shores peopled by mon- 


186 


strous forms which underwent a thousand 
magic transformations. The ground was 
rugged and hilly, with occasionally a pleasant 
strip of grass}^ turf by the roadside. Pres- 
ently, Tomalyn was overtaken by a Turk, 
who had evidently disobeyed the Prophet’s 
injunctions against wine-bibbing. 

‘‘Swift as the gazelle, speedier than the 
mountain torrent swollen by the wintry floods, 
are the steeds of Araby,” he hiccoughed; “but 
the horse of the mountaineer can outrun the 
roamer o’er the desert sands” — pointing to his 
own unkempt, shaggy animal, which seemed 
to curiously regard Tom Thumb’s satin coat 
and dainty limbs with very much the air of a 
street-sweeper surveying a Piccadilly lounger. 

l}elirV'‘ (Who knows?) Tomalyn de- 
fiantly replied. 

The Turk drove his enormous spurs into his 
horse’s flanks, and rushed to the front. After 
a vain attempt to preserve his dignity. Crane 
left Tom Thumb, who was fretting to be off, 
to wipe out the aspersion cast upon his desert 
ancestors. 

Down the steep hillside the pace was ter- 
rific. Urged by the yells of the drunken man, 
the horses rushed rapidly on. All at once the 
game little Turkish animal put his foot in a 


187 


hole, V turned a complete somersault, and shot 
his rider into a bush. Tom Thumb reached 
the bottom in safety, and bounded gayly for- 
ward, ready for any fresh diablerie which 
might suggest itself. 

The sun was sinking low as Tomalyn re- 
traced his steps, full of delight at the pros- 
pect of meeting Mrs. Brangwyn the next 
evening. Her promise to marry Gorchoff had 
been cancelled by mutual consent; and, it 
was rumored, that bland personage intended 
to quit Constantinople shortly. The world 
seemed very fair to Tomalyn now. The Gen- 
eral praised his work; Kourrian’s claws had 
been cut ; the need for incessant watchfulness 
had bred a contempt for the assassin’s dagger. 
Surely it was time to arrive at a definite un- 
derstanding with Mrs. Brangwyn. For some 
weeks past they had seen very little of each 
other. When they did meet, Mrs. Brangwyn 
carefully discussed military topics, to the ex- 
clusion of all others. Miss Ulverstone he saw 
rarely, for she never called on Mrs. Wyville 
Bains. 

Tomalyn rode mechanically forward, the 
now sober Tom Thumb stepping with ma- 
chine-like regularity. In his abstraction. 
Crane failed to notice the suwarri^s absence. 


188 


■When he looked back, he beheld the soldier 
on the summit of a lofty hill beside his mo- 
tionless horse. Suddenly the suwarri pros- 
trated himself on his hands and knees, in 
literal fulfilment of the Mohammedan dogma, 
that the hands and foreheads of those doomed 
to penance in hell shall not be scathed by the 
fire if those parts touch the ground in adora- 
tion of the Supreme Being. From the valley 
beneath sounded, musically and low, the tin- 
kling of the goat-bells and the shepherd's even- 
ing song. The suwarri rose to his feet. Mo- 
mentarily he stood motionless, while a drifting 
cloud cast its dark shadow over man and horse. 
With aloud call to the peasants below, he hurled 
himself into the saddle, drove his enormous, 
sharp-edged, shovel-shaped stirrups against his 
stallion’s sides, and dashed headlong down the 
steep hillside like some winged fiend. 

There was a cloud upon the suwarri's 
swarthy features as he ranged up alongside 
and wanted to know why Crane did not pray 
also to the Supreme Being who rules the sun 
and the clouds, the moon and the stars, the 
winds and the sea. 

Tomalyn explained, pantomimicall}’', that 
Englishmen, when they did pray, preferred to 
do so in the privacy of their own rooms. 


189 


But how can Allah see you demanded 
the picturesque and murderous-looking vaga- 
bond by his side. “ If one neglects the hours 
for prayer enjoined by the Prophet, Death 
comes, and the soul of the unrighteous is car- 
ried off by winged fiends to Eblis.” 

Having thus freed his mind with this cheer- 
ful prediction of Crane’s impending fate, the 
suwarri fell back and began to sing a charm 
to keep away bad spirits. 

The weird wail behind him and the un- 
tutored suwarri^ s pointed suggestions forced 
Tomalyn to think more seriously of his posi- 
tion. Might it not be the design of Gorchoff 
and the Armenian to lull him into a false se- 
curity in order to render easier his taking off ? 
They had failed to obtain the first report; but 
there was a second now nearly ready, every 
sheet of which was given to the chief as it was 
written out. The book on Military Tactics 
was merely a distraction of Tomkins Pasha, 
who had ostentatiously announced to the staff 
that he was writing it. Under cover of the 
Military Tactics, he hoped to get his real re- 
port finished without attracting observation. 

When they reached the courtyard, Tom 
Thumb went gayly off to the stable, munching 
his customary lumps of sugar. 


190 


“ I don’t seem to have arrived at anything, 
after all my hard thinking,” murmured Toma- 
lyn, as he paused on the doorstep. “I only 
went out to settle upon what to do, but Tom 
Thumb and the suwarri kept me so busy that 
I don’t seem to have had a chance. Wonder 
where Halil is ? I can’t get these boots off by 
myself ; they’re too tight. It’s a pity to waste 
good boots on a primitive place like this. 
Hal~il— il!” 

Smith, with white face and shaking limbs, 
suddenly appeared at the top of the staircase. 

“ For God’s sake, sir, don’t call ‘ ’Alii ’ like 
that. He can’t hear if you shout till the Day 
of Judgment.” 

W-what’s the mat — f ’ 

The devil’s the matter, sir. Come up here 
quietly into my room, and take off your hat as 
you come in.” 

With a bound, Tomalyn reached the head of 
the staircase. Halil lay dead upon the bed. 
The Imaum sat at the feet of the corpse, grave- 
ly praying, and there was a peculiar musky 
odor in the room. 

Tomalyn leaned against the door-post, 
aghast. “ Wha-what’s it all mean ?” he asked. 
‘‘ Halil, poor fellow ! Halil ! Halil ! 
Wake up!” 


191 


But the simple-hearted, childish man upon 
the bed was past all sound of human voices. 
Smith drew Tomalyn away to his own room. 

“We may thank our stars it wasn’t us, sir,” 
he said, solemnly. 

“ I don’t understand. Smith.” 

“ It was all along of that there letter this 
morning, sir. It was a do — a reggler plant. 
A messenger comes to the house, leaves a 
carefully-done- up basket of hot-house peaches 
addressed to me in the same writing as that 
letter of this morning, and goes away again.” 

“ Well 

“ I got mad, sir, at the widow a-sending 
silly things like peaches to me when we’d 
been expecting something quite different. 
Then I thought if I didn’t care for fruit, you 
might, sir ; and I told Halil to put the peaches 
on a plate and leave them in your room.” 

“Yes, yes,” said Tomalyn, turning sick and 
faint. 

“ Well, them Turks are just like children, 
sir. I s’pose the peaches looked so tempting 
he thought he must taste one ; then he must 
have had another. Presently, he gave a 
shriek, and I rushed in. I managed to hold 
him down for a minute or two. Then he 
arched himself up, dragged me all over the 


193 


room, and fell dead, smashing the other two 
peaches.” 

“ Does any one know about this except the 
Imaum 

“ No, sir. I went and fetched him to give 
’Alii a good send-off.” 

Crane thought for a moment, and rapidly 
matured a plan of action. “Very well, then. 
Get poor Halil’s body put quietly into that 
little back room, and lock the door. Kourrian 
is away with the chief at the fortifications, al- 
though he’s never allowed to enter them. I 
have no doubt he knows I am doing the sec- 
ond report, and that the chief sleeps out at 
Fort No. 16 to-night. Now, do you see what 
is going to happen ?” 

You mean, sir, Kourrian ’ll sneak back and 
have another shot at the report.” 

“Yes. His friends in Constantinople evi- 
dently got hold of the widow’s letter to you, 
and changed or poisoned the present. We 
can’t prove anything till we find out wheth- 
er Kourrian comes back. As the General is 
away, there won’t be sentries on duty to-night. 
If Kourrian knows anything about this he is 
sure to come back.” 

“ Then don’t let me get at him,” said Smith ; 
“ that’s all, sir. Don’t let me get at him ! He 


193 


was a good, kind-hearted fool, that there ’Alii, 
and now he’s gone — jnst as I was eddicatin’ 
him, too. Pasha or no Pasha, it’s time Kour- 
rian was put an end to.” 

And he stalked gloomily away, leaving 
Crane to prepare for Kourrian’s coming. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE COMING OF KOUERIAN. 

There was a certain grim and direct sim- 
plicity about Tomalyn’s preparations for the 
expected visitor. After making a pretence of 
eating, he went into his room, industriously 
wrote a few pages of a dummy report, and 
headed it “Private and Confidential,” in large, 
bold characters. The rest of the report con- 
sisted of spoiled sheets of the first document, 
and contained enough misleading statistics to 
cause the ruin of an invading army. 

When the dummy report was ready Toma- 
lyn arranged the curtains of his window so 
that the light should fall on the head of the 
bed, floured his face, and tucked a revolver 
under the pillow, where he could reach it at 
a moment’s notice. Smith lent an air of 
ghastly reality to the business by tying a 
white bandage round Tomalyn’s jaws, and 
then announced that everything was ready. 

“ Try not to drink any more raki to-night. 


195 


Smith,” urged Tomalyn; “it isn’t decent to 
get drunk with that poor fellow lying dead in 
the room beyond.” 

Smith somewhat thickly assented to this 
self-evident fact. 

“My nerves have got a bit rattled, sir, 
and I’m trying to steady ’em,” he explained. 
“ ’Tain’t comfortable to have people’s dreams 
coming true like this.” 

“Nonsense; you ought to be ashamed of 
yourself. Brace up, man ! I’m in a far tight- 
er place than you are. Come and tuck me up 
so that the light will fall upon my face only. 
It won’t do to let Kourrian see the gleam of a 
pistol-barrel.” 

Smith dexterously arranged the sheet 
around Crane so as to admit of perfect free- 
dom of action and yet cover up his arms. 

It was now nearly midnight, and Polly 
Wheedles, confined in a hamper, from time to 
time sent forth blood-curdling and distressful 
wails. 

“You’d better lie down and take a nap, 
Smith,” Tomalyn suggested, when everything 
had been arranged. “It might steady your 
nerves a bit.” 

Smith dubiously shook his head. “ I don’t 
mind a pretty piece of fighting — no old sol- 


196 


dier does, sir — but this poisoning work ain’t in 
my line. We’ve got to strike to-night, and get 
rid of that snake in the grass, or we’re done 
for. If the Pasha had only listened to me, 
’Alii would have been alive now.” 

Tomalyn held out his hand. “ Never mind 
that. Smith. We’ll keep the grumbling until 
afterwards. If we come out of this business 
alive, there will always be a home for you at 
my place; if we don’t see it through, why, 
then we’ve done all we could. Put the report 
on the dressing-table, and haul my bed a little 
more into this corner, where the moonlight 
will make me look ghastly. We’d better take 
him alive if we can. When I fire, just run out 
with my revolver and stop him. I’ll aim for 
his shoulder in case he has a dagger.” 

“ Shoot him straight through the head, and 
have done with it, sir. You’ll be sorry for it 
if you let him off again.” 

“No, Smith, that won’t do. I can’t even 
take a brute like Kourrian by surprise. I 
must find out for whom he is acting. Good- 
night for the present. Ever^^thing seems all 
right at the stables.” 

Smith went away to quiet Polly Wheedles, 
who was making the night hideous in her de- 
sire to escape from the hamper. Tomalyn’s 


197 


heart was heavy within him. He did not fear 
Kourrian, but the knowledge that an innocent 
man had been done to death in his service 
filled him with bitter regret. It was a hard 
thing to think that he himself might die so 
young, especially when the real report only 
lacked one more page to finish it. Kourrian 
captured, however, it would be easy to extort 
from him the names of his accomplices. Tom- 
kins Pasha was not a man to be trifled with 
more than once. 

And so the time dragged slowly on, until 
Tomalyn, despite his injunctions to Smith not 
to sleep, began to feel drowsy. Then he 
awoke with a start, and nerved himself to 
face the Armenian’s coming. If he came at 
all, he would not delay much longer. Hush-h! 
Hark ! What was that ? 

The stork’s restless clatter - clatter on the 
roof drowned the slight creaking of the door 
as it stealthily opened, and the Armenian’s 
swarthy visage peered into the room. Sur- 
prised at not seeing the bed in its usual place, 
Kourrian half-turned to go back, but suddenly 
caught sight of Tomalyn’s white face, and a 
grin passed over his own brown features. He 
stood upright in the middle of the room, and 
silently snapped his fingers, his little, cunning. 


198 


red-brown eyes dancing with delight as he sa- 
laamed low to the supposed corpse on the bed. 

“Kyatib Effendi/’ he said, in soft, silky 
tones, “ I have come to settle our accounts. 
But perhaps the Effendi is deaf and does not 
hear the poor dragoman. The peaches have 
made him sleepy, eh 

He grinned again, and leaned leisurely 
against the wall, and looked at the bed with 
a leer of gratified malice. 

“ Of course you had to die, Kyatib Effendi, 
and I shall earn many piasters — many more 
piasters than those you took away; oh yes, 
many more — for helping to remove you. If 
you had been a man of sense you would have 
shared them with me; and we could have 
spent them at the Concordia or amid the 
houris of Stamboul. Oh, j^ou fool of an Eng- 
lishman, to think to outwit me ! You’ll laugh 
no more in the light of the sun, or rob me of 
my money and knock me about, English pig. 
I have half a mind” — he advanced a step 
threateningly — “to cut off one of your ears 
as a souvenir of this happy meeting. Those 
girls at the well would like one, or I could 
sell it to the Englishwoman at the Eue 
Koyale for a lot of money. She would weep 
over it and grow uglier than ever.” 


199 


Tomalyn’s hand began to steal softly under 
the pillow. He could endure a good deal; 
but he did not intend to lose an ear just to 
gratify Kourrian’s brutal whim. 

Kourrian’s dark features worked with a 
feeling other than laughter. “ Ah, if he had 
only made friends with me he would not be 
lying there with that ugly bandage round his 
jaws. To think of the opportunities he had 
missed of plundering the Pasha ! And he 
had a pleasant laugh sometimes. Oh yes, a 
pleasant laugh. Ho, I will not cut his ear off 
now. If he had been alive, yes ; but now he 
is different. And it was not I who prepared 
the peaches, but Gorchoff and Mrs. — ” 

He stopped. Surely the figure on the bed 
had moved a little. But no ; his nerve was 
giving way. That white bandage round the 
face gave it a very stern and unpleasant ap- 
pearance. 

“Good-night, Kyatib Effendi, good-night. 
May you sleep a thousand years!” mocked 
Kourrian. “ It was so kind of you to finish 
the report before you died, Kyatib Effendi. If 
we had been friends, with such opportunities, 
we could have done great things together. 
I wonder how much Gorchoff will pay me for 
arranging all this ? Mrs. Brangwyn must 


200 


have had a lot of money from him lately. 
Those black Orloffs for her carriage step 
right up to their noses.” 

This unconscious revelation of Mrs. Brang- 
wyn’s treachery nearly killed Tomalyn. With 
an effort he repressed a groan, for he was 
anxious to learn the truth at any cost. 

“ Ah, how easy it is to humbug women !” 
said the loquacious Kourrian, as he edged 
nearer to the dressing-table. It was evident 
that he had been drinking; even the moon- 
light could not tone down the redness of his 
face. He spoke in a low, thick whisper, and 
a rank odor of raid filled the room. “ How 
easy it is to humbug, women ! Mrs. Brang- 
wyn believed that the effect of the peaches 
would be to make you stupid, Kyatib Effendi. 
As if anything could ever make you stupider ! 
She it was who suggested they should be sent 
to the Smith pig instead of direct to you. On 
my way back I must see whether the Smith 
pig has had a taste of them. I could hear 
him snore when I came in. It would be 
pleasant to know that he had had a little 
taste of them. Yery pleasant.” 

^ He hesitated a moment, although the dum- 
my report lay within easy reach, and time 
was precious. 


201 


“How I should like to cut the throat of 
the Smith pig, just to see him bleed and 
smell his blood ! What a pity he did not 
get any of the peaches ! I want to see him 
writhe and twist and groan as I writhed 
and twisted and groaned when Hawtrey Bey 
kicked me — me, the descendant of Arme- 
nian kings ! — down the stairs. I don’t think 
the good Smith will ever go to Pancaldi 
again.” 

Kourrian reached the table and took the re- 
port in his hand ; but the clatter-clatter of the 
stork’s beak on the roof made him start ner- 
vously and drop the loose sheets. By the time 
he had secured them all was still, and the 
white-faced figure on the bed had not moved. 
Kourrian was annoyed by the widely staring 
eyes. They took him back so many years, to 
the time when he had never killed a man or 
deceived a woman. 

“ Why couldn’t they put pieces of money on 
his eyes to keep them closed he said. “ I 
shall wake up in the night and see them, and 
the thought will make me seem less handsome 
to myself.” 

He hastily thrust the papers into his vest, 
and was about to leave the room, when the 
tick -tick of Crane’s watch caught his ear. 


202 


Tomalyn saw Kourrian take up the watch and 
look at it lovingly. 

‘‘No, it is safer not,” the Armenian mut- 
tered, irresolutely putting it down again. “ It 
might be found upon me, and that would be 
awkward. Ah-h, but what a beautiful watch !” 

He stretched out his hand and was about to 
take it, greed overcoming all questions of per- 
sonal safety, when Crane groaned hollowly 
from the bed. 

Kourrian dropped the watch with a cry of 
terror. As he did so, crack sounded the re- 
volver, and his right arm fell useless by his 
side. 

“ Smith,” cried Crane — “ Smith, stop him !” 

But by the time the slumbering Smith had 
jumped off his bed there was no Kourrian. A 
bloody track across the courtyard marked the 
way he had gone, and the faint clatter of 
quickly receding hoofs smote upon their ears. 

Smith was full of contrition and — raki. “ A 
nice soldier I am, sir !” he cried, with shame. 
“A dummy with a bellyful of sawdust ’ud 
make a better sentry. Why didn’t you kill 
him straight off? That was the only thing 
to do.” 

“ I wish I had. Smith. A lantern — quick ! 
We’ll get horses and follow him.” 


203 


They rushed to the stables, only to discover 
that the Armenian, with fine forethought, had 
cut through the bridles and saddle-girths right 
under the unconscious noses of the sleeping 
guard. 

‘‘ Come on, sir,” said Smith; “ we don’t want 
no saddles.” 

In a moment he had fashioned halters from 
the heel-ropes of a couple of chargers, and led 
out Tom Thumb and a big Turkoman. 

But though they rode fast and far beneath 
the pale moonbeams, they did not succeed in 
overtaking Kourrian. 

“ There’s one good thing, sir,” said Smith, 
as they turned homewards in the gray dawn ; 
“ you’ve hit him somewhere.” 

‘‘ Yes,” answered Tomalyn, whose face was 
as gray as the dawn. “You were right. Smith ; 
I was a fool not to kill him. How for fresh 
horses to take us over to the General.” 

But when they reached the General’s tent, 
it was only to learn that he had been has- 
tily summoned to an audience with the Sul- 
tan. 

Tomalyn gave a little sigh of relief. The 
General liad presumably written the last page 
himself, and the report was probably in the 
Sultan’s hands. The conspirators had failed 


204 


again. There was always that to remember. 
Then he went back to Nakatchkeui, and helped 
to bury Halil to the mournful accompaniment 
of mufBled drums — an honor at which the 
Turkish staff ofiBcers looked askance. 


CHAPTER XII 


EXIT GOKCHOFF 

OxE dark night, two days after he had so 
successfully escaped from Crane, Kourrian 
crept cautiously out from his hiding-place in a 
little house at the back of the Constantinople 
Crimean Memorial Church, and impatiently 
waited the coming of Gorchoff, who had ar- 
ranged for a meeting at eight. 

Gorcholf had explained that he was tired 
of Kourrian’s bungling attempts to remove 
Crane ; and that, if anything went wrong this 
time, the Armenian should suffer for it. Con- 
sequently, Kourrian did not look forward to 
the meeting with feelings of unmixed pleasure. 
True, he had the report ; but he also instinc- 
tively felt that Gorchoff wished to get Toma- 
lyn out of the way for private as well as pub- 
lic reasons, and would be savagely annoyed at 
the failure of this last attempt to murder that 
irrepressible youth. The pain from the bullet 
wound in his arm gave a feverish glitter to 


206 


the Armenian’s red-brown eyes. He was an- 
noyed at his own stupidity in having been 
caught by Crane’s clumsy trap, and, witli 
every twitch in his arm muttered a fresh 
curse upon Tomalyn. But when Gorchoff 
sauntered leisurely along the deserted Pipe 
Market, through the pitchy darkness of a 
night in which the moon fitfully shone at in- 
tervals from behind masses of dark clouds, the 
Armenian saluted the Kussian with grovelling 
obsequiousness, and followed humbly behind 
his superior in villany until they reached a 
mean house half-way down the street. Here 
Gorchoff, leisurely lighting a fresh cigarette 
from the stump of the one just finished, stroll- 
ed through the doorway, and contemptuously 
tossed the still glowing end into Kourrian’s 
face. 

The Armenian brushed away the cigarette 
end from his short, thick beard, and swal- 
lowed the insult with an inaudible curse, as 
he, in his turn, dived through the dark door- 
way, and came to a small room at the end of 
the narrow passage. On the threshold of the 
room he stumbled over a dog, and hurt his 
arm against the side of the wall. Conse- 
quently, he was not in the best of temper 
when Gorchoff lighted a smoky oil -lamp 


207 


which hung from the wmll, and sat down. 
The room itself was somewhat meanly fur- 
nished, with a ragged divan at one end and an 
old mat on the floor. I^othing distinguished 
it from any other room in a low quarter of the 
town, except that it had no windows at all, 
and the only approach to it was from the open 
passage. 

Leave the door open ; we don’t want to be 
surprised by eavesdroppers,” curtly command- 
ed Gorchoff, who wore a rough, dark coat over 
his evening dress. His gloves were daintily 
fresh, his varnished boots without a wrinkle, 
and there was an objectionably bullying air 
about him — the air of a man who does not 
allow trifles to balk him in the attainment of 
his desires. 

Kourrian set the door wide open, and some- 
what timidly entered the room. 

“How, what have you to tell me?” Gorchoff 
demanded, glancing at the Armenian’s wound- 
ed arm with a languid curiosity. “ Of course, 
the boy is dead ?” 

“ Ho, your Excellency,” faltered Kourrian, 
filled with a mysterious fear of the remorse- 
less villain on the divan, “ not quite. He will 
be dead soon, your Excellency — oh yes, he will 
be dead soon ; but he is not quite dead yet.” 


208 


“Nonsense!” Gorchoff impatiently threw 
down his cigarette. “ There was enough poi- 
son in those peaches to have killed a bul- 
lock.” 

“Ah, but, your Excellency, the Kyatib Ef- 
fendi is not a bullock ; he is only a cursed 
English pig. And English pigs are tough.” 

“ Yery well; it doesn’t matter for the pres- 
ent. I want to hear your version of what has 
taken place. And don’t lie, or I may send you 
a little gift also. A cup of coffee has been 
known to affect my friends very seriously 
sometimes.” 

Gorchoff was obviously in a bad temper. 
Mrs. Brangwyn now understood that the 
peaches, instead of being drugged, were actu- 
ally charged with a deadly poison, and that it 
was her suggestion of sending them to Smith 
which had probably insured their reaching 
Tomalyn. Of course, if they had been sent 
to him direct, he would have suspected some- 
thing. Full of feminine remorse, she had 
dared the consequences, and declined to have 
anything more to do with Gorchoff. Eemind- 
ed that her money was nearly all gone, she 
still persisted in her determination. Gorchoff 
felt vexed at the prospect of losing so useful 
a tool, and came away from her in a rage. 


209 


Nothing but the certain assurance of Toma- 
lyn’s death would satisfy him ; and his frown 
grew deeper as Kourrian, with many circum- 
locutions, narrated what had happened. 

“ It simply means,” said Gorchoff, ‘‘ that you 
are of no further use to me. The whole affair 
was so carefully planned that nothing but the 
bungling of a born fool and knave like your- 
self could have spoiled it. The widow has been 
taken away into safe keeping ; there was her 
letter to account for the peaches; they had 
nothing to do with Crane at all ; in the event 
of an inquiry into the circumstances, nothing 
could have been plainer. The whole thing 
would have been attributed to the jealousy of 
a Greek woman who doubted her lover. All 
you had to do was to creep quietly into the 
place at midnight, find out from the grooms 
whether anything had happened, and then get 
the report.” 

‘‘ Ah, but, your Excellency, I have got it.” 
Kourrian triumphantly took the document 
from his pocket. 

“ Bah, you stupid fool ! It never occurred 
to you to read it through? For all you knew 
to the contrary, there might have been two of 
them.” 

Kourrian stared. ^‘Kead it? No, Excel- 

14 


210 


lency, I did not read it. But see ; here it is — 
in the Kyatib EffendPs handwriting. ‘Pri- 
vate and Confidential.’ ” 

“ Look at the inside. What do you see 
there 

Kourrian turned to the next page. “ In the 
event of an army corps being equipped for — ” 
He ran his eye down the sheet, and turned 
over a leaf, his countenance darkening, as he 
held the report on his knee and steadied it 
with the wounded arm. “ It is all about mili- 
tary tactics, and has nothing to do with the 
forts at all. I am an asheli (ass), and the son 
of an ashek^'^ he said, sullenly. 

“ What were you going to ask me for it?” 
inquired Gorchofi, with ominous calmness. 
“ You, doubtless, had some nice little sum in 
your mind with which to retire to your native 
land and set up as a money-lender.” 

“ Two thousand lire, your Excellency,” 
stammered Kourrian. 

“ The real thing would not have been dear 
at the price. I bought it for exactly that sum 
from the Sultan’s head eunuch at Yildiz Kiosk 
to-day,” said Gorchoff, quietly. “Tomkins 
Pasha placed it in the Sultan’s own hands yes- 
terday ; to-day it is in mine ; to-morrow it will be 
on its way to St.Petersbui’g by special courier.” 


211 


Kourrian hung his head. “ And there will 
be no two thousand lire for me, Excellency 

“ You will not get two thousand piasters,” 
said Gorchoff, with decision. “ If I had you 
anywhere near St. Petersburg, you would 
find yourself bound for the Siberian quick- 
silver mines. I should like to see some of 
your gross flesh eaten away by the mercury.” 

“ But I have lost my place. Excellency. I 
shall starve.” 

“ I can’t help that.” Gorchoff shrugged his 
shoulders with an air of supreme indifference. 
“ You shouldn’t have bungled.” 

“Your Excellency will not let me starve,” 
whined Kourrian. “ A wealthy nobleman like 
yourself will not begrudge me the two thou- 
sand lire.” 

“ If I ever see you again,” said Gorchoff, 
deliberately lighting another cigarette and 
preparing to button his overcoat, “ I will de- 
nounce you to Tomkins Pasha as a poisoner, 
and that will be the end of you. You know 
what you have to expect if you fall into his 
hands. Be off ! Die, rot, starve; it is nothing 
to me. Two of my men are waiting at the 
end of the street. They will follow us when 
we go out, and not lose sight of you until you 
leave Constantinople.” 


212 


But, your Excellency, I have no money, 
and I have lost my place.” Kourrian heaped 
imaginary ashes on his own head, and sig- 
nified with all the fervor of Oriental hyper- 
bole that his cup of bitterness was filled to the 
brim, and running over. 

Gorchoff made a gesture of impatience. 
‘‘Be off, I tell you! Consider yourself lucky 
I haven’t had your throat slit.” 

“ A few lire, your Excellency,” urged the 
cringing Kourrian. “ I am a ruined man. I 
have spent all your Excellency’s bounty.” 

“ I know how. Better not go into details.” 
Gorchoff threw the crawling figure at his feet 
a lira, and motioned him to go out. “ Be off 
to your native land, or anywhere else, so long 
as you leave here! I give you twenty -four 
hours. Take your life and go. After twen- 
ty-four hours, should you be rash enough 
to delay, you will take a very long journey 
indeed, and you will not need anything to 
live on.” 

Kourrian salaamed and appeared to be 
overwhelmed by the gloomy significance of 
this last remark. 

“ It is my fault for bungling, your Excel- 
lency,” he said, with an appearance of pa- 
thetic resignation. “ Farewell.” 


213 


Gorchoff leisurely continued buttoning his 
overcoat. 

‘‘Your Excellency’s coat collar is sticking 
up at the back. I have only one hand, but it 
is at your service,” abjectly whined Kourrian. 

Gorchoff contemptuously turned his back 
towards Kourrian, like one who is accustomed 
to have others wait upon him. Kourrian 
clutched him by the collar with the hand of 
his injured arm and drove a dagger down- 
wards between the top of Gorcholf’s shoul- 
ders with such deadly force that the murderer 
and victim rolled over together on the floor, 
Kourrian almost fainting from the pain of his 
own wound. 

The scent of hot blood as it spouted from 
Gorchofl’s body turned the Armenian into a 
wild beast. He pulled out the dagger, rolled 
Gorchoff over on his back, and struck at his 
heart. The point of the dagger glanced off. 

“Ko matter,” said the Armenian, with a 
grim smile ; “ my first blow did the work.” 

As he cut open Gorchoff’s vest, the shimmer 
of bright steel met his eye. Gorchoff wore 
a flexible mail-shirt, so finely tempered that 
nothing could penetrate it. 

Kourrian grinned horribly. “ I thought as 
much. That was why I struck over the 


214 


shoulders and downwards. These Kussians 
think themselves very clever, but — Oh, 

this infernal arm of mine ! How it throbs 
j and burns! I can’t lift it at all after such 
a strain.” 

With the sharp point of the dagger he pro- 
ceeded to rip open Gorchoff’s pockets. 

Beyond a few Turkish lire there was noth- 
ing of any value in them save a gold watch 
set in brilliants. The only other valuable be- 
longing to the dead man was a big diamond 
which glistened upon his little finger. 

Kourrian hesitated a moment, then tried to 
slip off the ring. But it was too small for the 
finger, and would not come away. 

The Armenian looked fearfully round. 
“ They can but kill me if they catch me,” he 
muttered. “Without any money I shall 
starve. Once in the Armenian quarter, I am 
safe. But those cursed spies at the other end 
of the street ! How to avoid them ?” 

He slowly disengaged the dead man’s arm 
from the sleeve of his overcoat, carefully look- 
ing away from Gorchoff’s face the while. He 
had been accustomed to cringe before this 
man for so long that he was afraid of him 
even in death. 

“ Pardon, your Excellency,” he murmured, 


215 


apologetically, as he sawed away with his 
dagger at Gorchoff’s ring - encircled finger. 

I am in a hurry, and, though I am sorry to 
mutilate your Excellency, I assure you there 
is no other way.” 

When he had brutally hacked off the finger, 
he thrust it into his pocket, hastily changed 
the reports, took the dead man’s watch and 
chain, and, with many groans, indued himself 
with Gorchoff’s overcoat. If he could only 
slip out without being observed by Gorchoff’s 
men he would be safe. At which end of the 
street were they stationed? A cold sweat 
broke out on his forehead. He could not re- 
member. What was to be done? 

He tore off his fez, and thrust it into his 
pocket. 

Gorchoff’s silk hat had roUed into a corner 
under the divan. The Armenian went down 
on his knees, brought it out, brushed off 
the dust, and hurriedly started to his feet. 
“ They are two to one, and I have only my 
left hand,” he muttered. “ When the Kyatib 
Effendi fired at me, he did not remember that 
I am left-handed.” 

He blew out the light and stepped into the 
passage, feeling with one hand against the 
wall as he went. “ How for it !” he said, des- 


216 


peratelj. “ It won’t do to hurry. If the men 
were behind him they will have stopped at the 
top of the street. How, if I can only manage 
to light a cigarette and walk exactly like Gor- 
choff, even if I blunder into their arms they 
won’t be able to tell the difference on so dark 
a night. What a fool I was to blow out the 
lamp just to hide his grinning white face ! 
Ah, here’s a match.” 

An idea suddenly occurred to him. “ If I 
can only get by those Eussians at the end of 
the street. Miss Ulverstone will buy the report 
from me to save the Kyatib Effendi’s honor. 
She won’t know anything about which one it 
is. I will tell her it has been stolen from him. 
Then I shall become rich ! rich ! rich !” 

He puffed away at the cigarette until it be- 
gan to burn steadily. 

Ah ! if I were but an inch taller I should 
make a very good Gorchoff in this coat. 
Should I get past them, I might be able to 
go back in a day or two and take that mail- 
shirt. It would be very useful.” 

Kourrian went slowly out to meet his fate 
for good or ill. There was still a distance of 
a hundred yards to traverse before he turned 
the corner of the street and reached the top. 
Strung up to desperation, the Armenian’s van- 


217 


ity came to his rescue and he limped bravely 
along. ‘‘ If I once get clear with this report, 
and make Miss Ulverstone pay for it, I shall 
be a rich man. I will go back to Armenia, 
take a wife, lend money to the Turks, and rule 
a village. Ah, if I can only get past the top 
of this cursed street! Oh-h-h! There they 
are, behind the buttresses. If I go back they’ll 
be after me at once.” 

The momentary lifting of a cloud had ena- 
bled him to see a shadow projected from be- 
yond the buttress on the right-hand side of the 
top of the street. He had no doubt that there 
was another man on the other side. With un- 
usual sang-froid he stopped, struck a match, 
and held it in the hollow of his hand, as if 
relighting his cigarette. Would that cloud 
never darken the face of the struggling moon ? 
If he lingered longer they would begin to sus- 
pect something. Ah-h ! The moon was again 
out of sight. He sauntered on, and, reaching 
the top of the street, gave a careless backward 
wave of his hand towards some one who car- 
ried a small lantern. 

A man emerged from the buttress, just as 
Kourrian had expected. 

Your Excellency wishes us to wait here 
for the Armenian and follow him?” It was 


218 


the young officer who had kicked Gorchoff’s 
street dog. 

Kourrian nodded and limped off into the 
darkness, his heart hammering away against 
his ribs. 

Twenty minutes later Miss Ulverstone was 
astonished to hear that Gorchoff craved per- 
mission to see her on a matter of pressing im- 
portance. She shut her lips firmly. 

“ There is something fresh, or that horrible 
wretch would not be calling here this evening. 
I wonder whether I could bribe him. But no ; 
he is too rich. Perhaps he is a coward; I 
might terrif}^ him.” She took a small silver- 
plated revolver from her dressing-bag, loaded 
it, and saw that everything was in order. ‘‘ It 
may be foolish,” she said; “but after what 
Tom — Mr. Crane — has told me of the attempts 
on his life, it is just as well to be ready to 
meet Gorchoff, in case he wishes to extort 
something from my fears. What is that ad- 
dress he mentioned to me the other day? I 
might be tempted to undergo the operation if 
it would only remove my coarse skin and give 
me a complexion like Mrs. Brangwyn’s.” 

When she went down, the supposed Gor- 
choff sat with his back to the light. He seemed 
a little stouter than usual. Miss Ulverstone 


219 


went towards the light, with the intention of 
turning it up. 

It is a little low, Monsieur Gorchoff,’’ she 
said, rather c6ldly. “ You wanted to see me 
particularly at this somewhat unusual hour 
for a call? Do you know it is nearly ten 
o’clock ? My uncle and aunt have both gone 
to bed.” 

The figure in the chair muttered something, 
slipped towards the door, and fastened it. As 
Miss Dlverstone turned up the light it fell full 
on the villanous features of the Armenian. 

‘‘I shall not hurt you, gracious lady,” he 
whined. ‘‘I have come to bring you some- 
thing precious.” 

‘‘Oh, I am not frightened.” Miss Ulver- 
stone felt sick at heart with the knowledge 
that she was face to face with Tomalyn’s 
would-be murderer. “If you are near the 
door, I am just as near the bell-handle. What 
do you want ?” 

The Armenian, seeing that she was reas- 
sured, came eagerly towards her. 

“ It is for Mr. Crane’s sake,” he cried. “ If 
you don’t listen to me, gracious lady, he will 
be accounted dishonorable forever, a betrayer 
of trust, a man who has lost caste.” 

“Oh yes, I will listen,” said Miss Diver- 


220 


I 

stone, composedly. Mr. Crane is a friend of 
mine. I suppose you knew that, or you would 
not have come to me 

“ Oh yes, honorable lady, I knew that. But 
you must promise me never to reveal what I 
am going to tell you. You will hold my life 
in your hands.” 

“Yery well, then. What is it? How do 
you come to be here in Monsieur Gorchoff’s 
coat ? Did you steal it ?” 

“ Yes.” Kourrian hesitated. He will 
never want it again.” 

Miss Ulverstone understood. “Ah, he is 
dead ? You have quarrelled with and killed 
him ?” 

Kourrian nodded deprecatingly. “ I assure 
you, gracious lady, it was absolutely neces- 
sary. A man has only one life ; and he was 
a Kussian agent and poisoner.” 

Miss Ulverstone drew the revolver from 
her breast, sat down at the opposite side of 
the table, and motioned him to take a seat 
also. 

“How, tell me what you want, and be 
quick,” she said. “ Out of consideration for 
Mr. Crane, I do not hand you over to the 
zaptiehs. I suppose you want money, and 
have something to sell. Is that so?” 


221 


“ That is so,” said the Armenian, sullenly. 
“ It is the real report.” 

‘^Ah-h !” Miss Ulverstone started at what 
she had imagined was known only to Toma- 
lyn, herself, and the Pasha, “ What do you 
mean by the real report ?” 

“ You will give it back to me if we cannot 
agree upon the terms?” cautiously asked the 
Armenian. 

Miss Ulverstone promised. “ I see it is a 
question of money. Give me the report.” 

She hastily turned over the pages, and was 
sufficiently conversant with military matters 
to know that Kourrian had spoken the truth. 
This was the real report in Tomalyn’s writing, 
with marginal Turkish notes, and the last 
sheet finished and signed by Tomkins Pasha. 
The report minutel}^ gave the history, prog- 
ress, and condition of each fort from Lake 
Derkos to the Black Sea, the number of its 
guns, stores of ammunition, and the men sta- 
tioned there. 

“You got this from Gorchoff?” she asked. 

“ He commissioned me to steal it from the 
Kyatib Effendi, and then refused to pay me 
for it, so I — ” He went through the panto- 
mimic action of killing a man. “ Then I re- 
pented, and brought it to you, for Crane 


222 


Effendi’s sake, though he has shot me in the 
arm.” 

She looked at him suspiciously. “ I am very 
glad he did that — very glad, indeed. Was it 
absolutely necessary to kill Gorcholf ?” 

“It was absolutely necessary,” the Arme- 
nian assured her with great fervor. “Ab- 
solutely necessary. If I had not killed him, 
he would never have rested until we were all 
dead.” Then he recounted to her the histo- 
ry of the poisoned peaches, and how they had 
been sent to Smith under the expectation that 
he would present them to Tomalyn. “ I dare 
not go near the Kyatib Effendi,” Kourrian 
piteously continued, “ for he would shoot at 
once, and kill me this time before I could 
explain. He was very fond of the stupid 
Halil.” 

“ And you want me to buy this report from 
you ?” 

“ Yes, gracious lady.” 

“ How long did Gorcholf have it in his pos- 
session ?” 

“Ten minutes.” 

“ And there is no other copy ?” 

“ Absolutely no other copy. It is too im- 
portant.” 

“ How much ?” she asked, abruptly. 


223 


“ Gorchoff promised me three thousand 
lire ; but he would not pay me because Crane 
Effendi did not die.” 

“ I don’t think it is worth more than two.” 
Miss Ulverstone shrewdly suspected that the 
Armenian had enlarged a little on the original 
price. “If you like to take that sum, I will 
give you an open check.” 

“ Ah, but why not give it to me in English 
bank-notes,” suggested the Armenian, with 
fervor. “ A check can be stopped.” 

“You don’t suppose I carry such a sum 
about with me? I give you the word of an 
Englishwoman that it will not be stopped,” 
she said, quietly. “If I wanted to behave 
treacherously, I could shoot you now and keep 
the report for nothing. Your being in Gor- 
choff’s coat would at once explain what you 
have done, and that you were here to extort 
money. Keep the report until I come back; 
I will go and write out the check.” 

The Armenian unlocked the door and let 
her pass. This was a woman indeed. What 
a pity she was not beautiful like Mrs. Brang- 
wyn! Would she never come back again? 
Had Gorchoif’s men followed him, after all? 
He was a fool to trust a woman! And how 
his arm ached and burned and throbbed as 


224 


Gorchoff’s face, cynical even in death, rose up 
and mocked him. 

Here is the check,” said Miss Ulverstone, 
quietly, laying it down on the table. “ How 
put the report over there, and then you can 
have it.” 

Kourrian hurriedly snatched up the check 
with a cry of joy. It Tvas an open one, drawn 
on the Ottoman Bank. 

Miss Ulverstone took the report, walked to 
the fireplace, laid the document on the glow- 
ing logs, and watched it fiare away until only 
a few blackened bits of Tomalyn’s laborious 
work remained. 

That is the safest place for it,” she said. 
“ How you will not try to murder me in order 
to sell it to some one else.” 

Kourrian was profuse in his protestations 
of thankfulness. Murder a woman ! Oh no ; 
that would be too ungentlemanl}^” 

Miss Ulverstone shrank from the crawlinir 

O 

reptile as he endeavored to kiss the hem of 
her dress before departing with the check. 
A struggle seemed to be going on in her 
mind. She called the Armenian back from the 
threshold. 

“ Stop,” she said, suddenly. You are go- 
ing to certain death.” 


225 


The Armenian shivered. Of what use was 
the check to him now ! Gorchoff’s men had 
followed him, and she knew it. 

“ I happened to look out of my window 
after signing the check,” said Miss Ulver- 
stone, “and saw two men standing on the 
other side of the road, evidently w’^atching the 
hotel. The moon is now up, and they must 
see you. I was hesitating about letting you 
go to your fate, and am probably doing a 
very unwise thing in trying to shield you ; but 
there is a small garden at the back of the 
hotel, the door of which leads into a narrow 
lane. You may yet have time to escape, if 
you follow me.” 

For an instant the Armenian became a man. 
“ For your sake,” he said, solemnly, “ I will 
never again lift a finger against the Kyatib 
Effendrs life. I swear it. Quick I The 
passage !” 

Miss Ulverstone preceded him down the 
passage with a sigh of relief. Tomalyn’s safe- 
ty was cheap at the price. Then she opened 
the little back door and the Armenian slunk 
out. When she came back the police spies 
still watched the front of the hotel. 


15 


CHAPTER XIII 


goechoff’s successoe 

Goechoff’s death made a good deal of stir 
in Constantinople. He had been very popu- 
lar at the clubs, where he passed for a quiet 
and inoffensive man whose one object in life 
was to kill time and not people; and the 
manner of his sudden demise caused much 
uneasiness to various citizens whose avoca- 
tions necessitated their being out after dark. 
If the Kussian Embassy people suspected who 
was the assassin, they did not allow their 
knowledge to transpire; probably under the 
conviction that not even the resources of the 
Sultan himself would be equal to finding 
Ivourrian in the Armenian quarter. Besides, 
one Armenian is so very like another Arme- 
nian that to search for him there would be 
rather like looking for a needle in a haystack. 
So the officials at the Embassy contented 
themselves with attending Gorchoff’s funeral 
in solemn state and setting a Avatch on the 


227 


music-halls and gambling-hells which abound 
in Pera and its vicinity. If Gorchoff had 
been robbed of any large sum, sooner or later 
Kourrian, who was a spendthrift and gambler 
to the backbone, would find his way there 
in order to lose it. A successor to Gorchoff 
came so quietly and unobtrusively from St. 
Petersburg that people never guessed the el- 
derly gentleman — supposed to be travelling 
in search of health — was other than he 
seemed. The new-comer had no intention of 
poisoning Tomalyn or any one else ; in fact, 
he considered that the late lamented Gor- 
choff’s methods were decidedly crude and be- 
hind the requirements of nineteenth -century 
civilization. To kill an enemy was a very in- 
complete and barbaric form of vengeance ; for 
he knew from past experience that death is 
very often the greatest kindness which one 
foe can confer upon another. 

But while Gorch off’s successor was busily 
engaged in unravelling the tangled threads of 
the report business, Tomkins Pasha suddenly 
obtained leave of absence for three months, 
and Tomalyn remained behind in Constanti- 
nople, to do as he liked, without the slightest 
fear of any one worrying him with reference 
to the political situation. The day before 


228 


Tomkins Pasha’s departure, they solemnly 
burned up every scrap of paper containing 
notes of any kind, in order to make sure that 
no information should transpire during the 
great man’s absence. 

“ I think. Crane,” said Tomkins Pasha, mus- 
ingly, “ I can carry all the details of the forts 
in my head until my return. A curious thing 
happened yesterday at my audience with the 
Sultan. He wanted to refer to the report I 
gave him, and it could not be found. I fancy 
the head eunuch must have had a bad time 
of it after I left. If there had been treachery, 
it—” 

“ There has been treachery, sir,” answered 
Tomalyn. “ Bitter, black treachery. Do you 
know what became of the report after you 
handed it to the Sultan ?” 

Tomkins Pasha displayed his customary 
sang-froid^ although it was somewhat new to 
him to have a callow youngster explaining 
that he had been guilty of an indiscretion. 

“It was placed in his Majesty’s hands by 
me, and he gave it to Kifaat Bey for safe 
keeping. Pifaat was told to answer for it 
with his head.” 

“ Then he is probably headless by this time, 
sir.” 


229 


Tomkins Pasha lighted another cigarette. 
“ That is a misfortune which is not without 
its alleviation. Just tell me all about it, 
Crane, before I go. Perhaps I shall not be 
able to go when I have heard your news.’’ 

‘‘Well, sir, that loathsome wretch, Eifaat, 
sold the report to Gorchoff, thinking that it 
would never be called for again, and that the 
Sultan would forget all about it. The man 
who murdered Gorchoff — they think it was 
Kourrian — took the report from him, and 
twenty minutes later sold it to — ” 

“Ah-h, this is interesting.” But Tomkins 
Pasha looked grave. “ Whom did Kourrian 
sell it to?” 

“ A mutual friend, sir — Miss Ulverstone.” 

Tomkins Pasha stretched out his hand. 
“ Better give me back the report. Crane, and 
we’ll burn it. I might have known that such a 
thing should never have been put into writing.” 

“ But I haven’t it, sir.” 

Tomkins Pasha looked serious. “ I’d better 
see Miss Ulverstone myself at once. She’s a 
girl in a thousand ; but it isn’t safe, even in 
her hands. If the Kussian government got 
hold of it, Kussia would declare war immedi- 
ately ; and we’re not ready yet. The report 
isn’t safe with Miss Ulverstone. I represented 


230 


to the Sultan, at the time he asked for it, the 
extreme danger of putting such facts into writ- 
ing. Kifaat was present, and probably sold 
the information to Gorchoff.” 

“ Miss Ulverstone thought it would be dan- 
gerous to keep the report, sir ; so she burned 
it directly after it came into her hands.” 

‘Tomkins Pasha never allowed himself to 
become enthusiastic; but a smile stole over 
his features. 

“ How much did she pay for it. Crane 

‘‘ Two thousand lire, sir.” 

Tomkins Pasha sat down and hastily scrib- 
bled a check for the amount. 

“Give her this ring also, Crane, and say 
that she has saved not only me but the Turk- 
ish Empire — for a little while, at least. Such 
a lesson is worth two thousand lire. That 
girl’s a heroine ; but because she has a rough, 
bad complexion, half the young fools in the 
world will never find it out.” 

Tomalyn felt rebuked, repentant, full of re- 
morse that he should not have discharged the 
monetary obligation himself. 

“ I would have paid the money, sir, only I 
thought she would not have taken it from 
me.” 

“ No, you couldn’t have done it. Crane. An 


231 


old man like myself, yes ; but you, no. Tell 
Miss Ulverstone I shall never cease to thank 
her. I remember seeing Gorchoff at the pal- 
ace that day, and noticed how late he was. 
The report could not have been copied in the 
time, so we’re safe. He sat down, leaning his 
head on his hand in momentary dejection. 
“ Unhappy country, whose foes come from 
within as well as from without ! It is only a 
question of time. If Eussia declares war we 
shall be gradually driven back on the forts, 
and then — ” He roused himself on seeing 
Tomalyn, affectionately solicitous, at his el- 
bow. A glance at the lad’s careworn, sorrow- 
sharpened features startled him. “ Better 
come with me. Crane. You look ill. A little 
change will do you good. There’s nothing to 
be done here for three or four months. It is 
just the breathing time before the struggle 
begins. Come with me.” 

“ Thank you, sir, but — ” 

“ Oh, if there’s a ‘ but,’ Crane, it can’t be 
helped. Only take care of yourself. I shall 
be staying near your people, and will report 
well of you.” 

Tomalyn glowed beneath the few words of 
praise, and left the room. Tomkins Pasha 
looked after him with a regretful air. 


232 


‘‘ ISTo one can help the youngster ; he must 
fif^ht his own battles. What a fool he is not 
to see the other woman cares for him ! But 
we’re most of us fools where women are con- 
cerned, and always will be.” 

Tomalyn, check in hand, went off to the 
Hotel Koyal to see Miss Ulverstone. A maid- 
en blush bepainted her sallow cheek when she 
heard of Tomkins Pasha’s commendation. As 
Tomalyn had foreseen, she kept the ring — a 
very handsome emerald, engraven in Arabic 
with the sacred name of the Prophet — and 
treated the check in the same way as she had 
the report. 

I wish the Pasha would not send me 
money,” she said, somewhat petulantly, to 
Crane. “ It seems to me that one-half of the 
world spends its time endeavoring to get 
money from the other half.” 

“ Ah, well,” said Tomalyn, twisting one glove 
in his hand, “ there must be two halves.” 

Miss Ulverstone looked at him anxiously. 
“Mr. Crane, what’s the matter with you? 
Your face is thin, your skin turning quite yel- 
low. They’re not poisoning you, after all ?” 

Tomalyn sat down wearily as she rang for 
wine. After he had swallowed a little he felt 
better. 


233 


Oh no, thanks ; I don’t think any one 
would take the trouble, now Gorcholf’s dead. 
They all know that the chief is going awa}^, 
and so they’ll let me alone. But I’ve had 
some letters sent me — I think Kourrian must 
have taken them from Gorchoff — and I’m 
rather upset by them.” 

“ Hadn’t you better go back to England for 
a little while ?” 

“ No, thanks ; I don’t want to go home.” He 
spoke almost crossly, for him, and sat looking 
listlessly over her head at the opposite wall. 

“ It would do you all the good in the 
world,” Miss Ulverstone insisted. “ You can 
come back again with the Pasha.” 

Tomalyn pulled himself together with an ef- 
fort. “ I’m collecting armor and rugs and — ” 

“Heartaches?” pointedly suggested Miss 
Ulverstone. 

He laughed. “ Oh no — there’s no more 
room; but I wander about bazaars and pick 
up things. You’ve no idea how fascinating it 
is. I go into a shop at ten in the morning to 
buy a Persian rug. At eleven, I have coffee 
with the shopkeeper; at twelve, I offer him 
three pounds for it; at one, he asks twelve 
lire ; at two, I call him names ; at three, he 
comes down to ten lire; at four, I say I’d 


234 


better be going ; at five, he will take six lire ; 
at five -thirty, I say good-bye to him and 
leave ; at five-thirty-two, he sends a boy after 
me to say that I can have the rug for three 
pounds. It’s a delightful way of doing busi- 
ness if you have time; and I seem to have 
plenty of time now.” 

She looked at him in growing alarm, for 
Tomalyn was worn to skin and bone. 

“How’s that?” 

“ Oh, I don’t do things ; that’s all.” He 
rose to leave. 

“ I shall send Doctor Peterkin to look after 
you,” Miss Ulverstone said. “Mr. Crane, I 
think you are going to be very ill.” 

“ As Smith would say, ‘ I’m a bit off my 
feed,’ ” Tomalyn reluctantly admitted. “ But 
I’ve a splendid Hungarian landlady, who has 
fallen in love with me. She can scream her- 
self into hysterics with the servants if the 
slightest thing goes wrong. They throw wa- 
ter over her, and she abuses them for spoil- 
ing her dress. We all dine together at the 
Kue Sari-Yeri — the other boarders, I mean, 
not the servants — and — ” 

“ Sari-Yeri ? I think I’ve heard something: 
about the drainage there. Why did you take 
rooms in such a place ?” 


235 


Tomalyn picked up his hat. “ Oh, I don’t 
know. They are nice rooms right up at the 
top of the house, where nobody interferes 
with me, and I can be alone as much as I 
want. May I look in again in a day or two. 
Miss TJlverstone? The chief and Smith are 
off this afternoon.” 

“ Do,” she said, cordially, somewhat re- 
assured by his manner. “Has Smith found 
his widow yet ?” 

“ Oh, Anna ?” 

“Yes; if he hasn’t, tell him from me that I 
have found her, and that she is shortly coming 
to me as my maid. She had been taken away ; 
but our Ambassador interfered for me, and 
she is to be returned on condition that by- 
gones are allowed to become by-gones. Give 
this photograph to Smith, and tell him to be 
easy about her.” 

“ Smith is nearly mad,” said Tomalyn. 
“ He’s given up drinking, and says that when 
he has seen the chief home he will come back 
to look for her. It will take a great load off 
his mind to know that Anna is safe. Good- 
bye. I’ll tell the chief you burn all his writ- 
ings. You ought to be an editor. You’re so 
critical.” 

He went back to the General, and saw him 


236 


off, first giving Smith Miss Ulverstone’s mes- 
sage and the photograph. Smith became a 
different being and vowed that Miss Ulver- 
stone was an angel. 

“ Don’t you worry about nothing, sir,” he 
said, cheerfully. I’ll be back in a month, 
and if that there Harmenian turns up I’ll 
make it hot for him. You just get up to 
Therapia, sir, and stay there. It’s much 
healthier in the hot weather than Constan- 
tinople.” 

When the big steamer had fussed out of the 
harbor, Tomalyn dejectedly went back to his 
rooms, put on a frock-coat, languidly hunted 
out a tall hat, and turned his steps in the 
direction of Mrs. Wy ville Bains’s house. 

Mrs. Wy ville Bains was not at home; Mrs. 
Brangwyn was. 

But when Tomalyn entered Mrs. Brang- 
wyn’s boudoir, with the feeling that he was 
doing so for the last time, he could not see 
any one. There was no doubt whatever in 
his own mind about her complicity in the af- 
fair of the peaches, although he did her the 
justice to believe that she did not intend to 
compass his death. At odd moments there 
was a curious confusion in his mind as to 
whom he did expect to see here. He carried 


237 


a bundle of letters in his hand, addressed by 
Mrs. Brangwyn to Gorchoff, which Kourria-n, 
with characteristic malignity, had forwarded 
to him. Should he simply hand Mrs. Brang- 
wyn the letters without a word of reproach, 
and leave the wretched woman to her fate, 
or — 

But again there was a missing link in the 
confused chain of his thoughts. He sank down 
on a long, luxurious divan, which ran along 
the side of the wall opposite a door. The 
door was ajar, and facing it stood a long pier- 
glass. From the other end of this room he 
heard Mrs. Brangwyn’s voice say — 

“ Is that you 

“ Yes,” he answered, dully, with a curious 
feeling that there were two Tomalyn Cranes, 
one of whom looked on at and urged forward 
the other. 

‘‘There is to be a masked ball at Said 
Pasha’s next week,” said Mrs. Brangwyn, 
“ and I am trying on a Turkish dress. If you 
won’t be shocked. I’ll show it to you. It is 
all ready but the sleeves.” 

She must have touched a button or spring 
of some sort, for a clear light was thrown on 
the mirror. Out of the soft gloom there 
glided a lovely woman, with unbound tresses 


238 


nearly reaching to the ground, and bare, ex- 
quisitely modelled, shining arms. The dress 
itself fitted tightly to her beautiful shape and 
fell away in long folds to the fioor. It was of 
some diaphanous material thickly embroidered 
with gold tissues. Gleaming jewels were scat- 
tered over it and shone with an unholy lustre 
in the glass, which multiplied and repeated 
them until there seemed to Tomalyn to be two 
women, half shrouded in clouds of dusky hair, 
from which white shoulders stood out as some- 
thing real and tangible — something to prove 
that he was not assisting at the raising of a 
spirit. The light grew dim and spotted to 
Tomalyn’s blurred vision when one of these 
women slowly came through the open door- 
way, her head thrown back with languorous 
challenge, the red lips parted in a smile, the 
white arms outstretched towards him. Voices 
faintly sounded in the lad’s ears as the wom- 
an sank at his feet, wreathed her warm white 
arms about his neck, kissed him on his lips 
again and again, and drew down his head to 
her swelling bosom. 

‘‘Thank God, you are alive, dearest!” she 
said. “ I am free. Free 1 There is nothing to 
come between us now. Nothing ! Nothing 1 
Nothing !” 


239 


For a moment the bewildered lad surren- 
dered himself to her impassioned embrace ; for 
a moment, lapped in Elysium, smiled into her 
beautiful eyes as she rained down kisses upon 
him ; for a moment gave himself up to this new 
world into which he had so unexpectedly stum- 
bled. Then the tides of memory, clamorously re- 
surgent, called him back again. With an effort 
he pushed her away, and fell against the wall. 

Mrs. Brangwyn looked at him with startled 
eyes. Was her carefully prepared scene to 
meet with no better success than this ? Surely 
Tomalyn did not suspect her, now that Gor- 
choff was gone ? She was free ; he loved her. 
But why that fixed, glassy stare, that laboring 
breath, that picking of fingers on the divan, as 
if perpetually seeking something he could not 
find? 

‘‘ What is the matter ? Tomalyn, don’t you 
know me ? Are you ill ? What’s the — ” 

The lad stared at her with dull, distended 
eyes. “I’m dying. Dying, I tell you. Per- 
haps I’m alread}^ dead. This is hell ; you are 
the tortured spirit of Airril Brangwyn. See! 
There’s Gorchoff — pointing at us with bloody 
hand. His finger’s gone. We’re both in hell. 
It burns — it burns ! Don’t you see the flames 
round him ? He’s going to drag us down. He 


240 


— he. Where am I? Where am I? Who are 
you ? Who — ” 

The paroxysm suddenly passed away. “ I — 
I don’t quite know where I am,” he said, ad- 
dressing Mrs. Brangwyn. “ I’m either sicken- 
ing for a fever or Gorchoff has poisoned me ; 
I don’t know which.” 

She stared at him with horror-stricken eyes. 
“ Gorchoff ! Can he reach us from the dead ?” 

“ Yes ; I came to bring back your letters to 
him. Can’t you see him in the corner, grin- 
ning at us? He’s had his finger cut off. Look 
at him ! See ! He’s coming towards us !” 

He threw down the letters on the divan, 
while Mrs. Brangwyn, stricken dumb, gazed 
at him with anguished eyes. 

“ I am inno — ” 

“ It doesn’t matter now,” wearily said Tom- 
alyn, going with slow steps to the door and 
blindly putting out one hand to feel for it, as 
if Gorchoff barred the way. “ Nothing mat- 
ters now. Good-bye. Ah, he’s moved ! He’s 
between us!” 

“Who? You are ill. There is nobody 
there ! Let me send for a doctor.” 

“ Keep away !” shouted Tomalyn, the light 
of delirium in his eyes. “ Gorchoff whispers, 
‘ Strangle her ! strangle her ! stran — Oh, 


241 


my head, my head !” He lurched unsteadily 
against the door. 

Mrs. Brangwyn glided across the room and 
held him in her arms. 

“ My poor boy, my dearest, my dearest. 
Come back. Let me lead you to the divan. 
I’ll send for a doctor.” 

But Tomalyn thrust her roughly away, and 
stumbled out. Just as he was going, his fe- 
vered eye caught sight of the group of photo- 
graphs. His own was at the top. He stag- 
gered towards it, fumbled for the spring at 
the bottom of the stand, and pressed it. The 
photograph rose, wavered, poised for a mo- 
ment, and fell backwards into the basket be- 
hind, never to be replaced. Without a word, 
without a look, he left the room, the woman 
staring after him with straining eyes and out- 
stretched arms. She heard his unsteady foot- 
steps along the tiled passage, the rattle of the 
rings at the end as he tore at the curtain. Pres- 
ently her maid came in, and found her crouch- 
ing on the floor, her hair veiling her face, the 
gold tissues of her dress and the shining jewels 
struggling through its misty shadows. 

Madama dines out to - night asked the 
Greek maid, with the air of one who was never 
surprised at anything her mistress chose to do. 

16 


242 


“ IS’ot to-night. I shall wear my hair down 
at the ball next week. Where is the mask? 
And mind that the sleeves are ready in time. 
How do I look to-night ?” 

A trifle pale, madama.” 

^‘Some rouge — quick! Tell Mrs. Wyville 
Bains we dine early. Ho one shall fancy that 
I have been spurn — You may go. Don’t 
stand listening there.” 

By the time Tomalyn had wandered back to 
his rooms and thrown himself upon his bed, 
Mrs. Brangwyn sat at dinner, making a dainty 
pretence of eating. 

Mrs. Wyville Bains suddenly turned to the 
footman, as if remembering something. 

“ When Mr. Crane calls again, tell him we’re 
not at home. I met him in the passage, Airril, 
and he passed me without a word. I am be- 
ginning to dislike that young man.” 

Mrs. Brangwyn went on with her dinner. 
She dared not think what was to become of 
either Tomalyn or herself. But she smiled 
pleasantly. 

‘‘Very well,” she said, with easy indiffer- 
ence, and began to talk of something else, as 
if scores of bills had not been showering in 
upon her for the last three days. 


CHAPTER XIV 


KOUREIAN REAPPEARS 

At this crisis of his life Crane fancied that 
he had only two friends ; and of the two, he 
believed less in Miss Ulverstone than in Fati- 
ma, the street dog, who lived under the pave- 
ment and worshipped him for saving one of 
her puppies from destruction. Since the res- 
cue of the bedraggled little puppy, Fatima al- 
ways left the rest of her family in order to ac- 
company Tomalyn to the end of the street. If 
she had gone any farther, the dogs in the next 
quarter ” would have torn her to pieces ; for 
such is the unwritten law of the pack in Con- 
stantinople. Fatima was wise, and knew this. 
She would contentedly accept a biscuit from 
Crane at the top of the street, and then trot 
back to her family, who gobbled it up and 
asked for more — a thing which Fatima scorn- 
ed to do, though very often far hungrier than 
her whelps. 

A new servant he had temporarily en- 


244 


gaged — this was a quiet, elderly fellow, with 
excellent references, whose cat-like way of 
moving about a room proved strongly remi- 
niscent of Kourrian, although he was older, 
stouter, and lighter-bearded than the missing 
dragoman — rather worried Crane at this junc- 
ture. The man had come to him the day af- 
ter Tomkins Pasha’s departure, with a letter 
written in Turkish, and with the chief's well- 
known signature at the bottom. Tomalyn, in 
his present obfuscated condition, would have 
engaged any one with a plausible story. For 
a few days the lad seemed to recover. Then 
it was that Alexis, when he noticed how sad 
and silent Tomalyn had become, suggested 
that the music - halls and gambling - tables of 
Pera might afford his master some distraction. 
To please Alexis, Tomalyn accompanied him 
to a private gambling - hell, where even he 
could not fail to see that his servant lost 
large sums of money. But this was all part 
of the darkened world in which Tomalyn now 
lived ; and he handed his last packet of lire 
to Alexis one evening, and sat watching that 
cat-like individual lose it at the tables, without 
caring in the least what became of the money. 
He was trying to remember whether he had 
promised to dine with Miss Ulverstone and 


245 


her friends that night. But after a little while 
this connected train of thought faded, Alexis 
took his arm, and led away the bundle of skin 
and bone which had once been Tomalyn. The 
lad was very ill — so ill that even the gambling 
Alexis seemed filled with pity as he helped 
him up the stairs to his room. The dog Fa- 
tima, whose puppies were now able to shift 
for themselves, in spite of a kick from Alexis, 
followed Tomalyn, and refused to be driven 
away. 

Shall I undress you and put you to bed, 
Effendi asked Alexis, quietly. “ To-morrow 
you must get some more money from ypur 
friends.” 

Tomalyn stared vaguely at him. It seemed 
to him that the beard was the beard of Alexis, 
but that the voice was the voice of Kourrian. 
A flash of returning reason came to his aid. 

“Ho,” he said, abruptly; “you’d better leave 
me to-morrow, Alexis. I can’t afford a ser- 
vant any more. Good -night. You’ll find a 
few lire in m}’’ writing - desk. Take them to- 
morrow and go.” 

After Alexis had left the room, it took 
Tomalyn a long time to get to sleep. The 
silent Fatima — she never barked — lay at the 
foot of the bed and gave an occasional thump 


246 


of her tail on the coverlet. The window of 
the room looked out upon a blank wall, which 
Tomalyn could not see on account of the fog. 
He began to dream horrible dreams. A few 
days ago Alexis had brought him a canary 
and some goldfish in a bowl as a birthday 
present. The door would not fasten properly, 
so that now all the cats of the house crept 
into the room while Tomalyn was asleep, try- 
ing to get at the fish. At last one of them 
crawled up the window - curtain and leaped 
for the stand on which the fish were, upset- 
ting it with a loud crash. This roused Fatima, 
who rushed at the cats, and they fled away 
with hideous noises. These horrible sounds, 
mingling with Tomalyn’s disordered dreams, 
made him fancy that he was attacked by rob- 
bers. He awoke in a terrible fright, retaining 
hardly sufficient strength to get off the bed, 
stagger to a table, bring back his loaded re- 
volver, and thrust it beneath his pillow. 
Presently the thumping of Fatima’s tail on 
the bed reassured him. Tears ran down his 
cheeks. 

“I believe Pm dying,” he said to himself. 
‘H)ying! I wish Pd had more time to get 
ready. Alexis might have stayed with me. 
Pm growing delirious ; with only a dog to see 


247 


me die ! Some one might have brought me a 
doctor.” 

He was unable to pursue a logical sequence 
of thought for any length of time, and dozed 
off again into troubled dreams. Dull, heavy 
weights pressed him down as he sank, for 
what seemed ages, through the inky black- 
ness of some unknown world in which there 
was never any light. Sometimes sharp-mem- 
braned wings brushed against him as he fell. 
Suddenly this interminable journey ended, and 
there was light. He was lying on his own 
bed again, freed from all the terrors of this 
subterranean hell. A man moved noiselessly 
about the room with a lamp. It was Alexis. 

Something held back Tomalyn’s cry of re- 
lief. For a moment his wandering senses 
cleared; an indefinable instinct warned him 
to be silent. With a feeble movement he put 
one hand beneath his back and dragged out 
the revolver, which had worked its way down 
from under the pillow. As he did so Alexis 
impatiently stripped off his beard, and stood 
revealed as — Kourrian. The exertion of drag- 
ging out the revolver made Crane almost un- 
conscious again. Hot, flaming fingers seemed 
to tear at his parched throat. Fatima’s heavy 
body held down his feet. 


248 


When he once more opened his eyes Kour- 
rian had turned up the lamp, and was quietly 
walking about the room, stripping the valuable 
Persian rugs from the walls and putting them 
on top of the others by the stove. After the 
carpets were ranged in a neat pile — Tomalyn 
had spent a couple of hundred pounds on cu- 
rios for his mother — Kourrian took the keys 
from Crane’s trousers-pocket, opened his desk, 
extracted all the money therefrom, and placed 
it in his sash, l^ext, the Armenian gathered 
up the costly swords, daggers, and cimeters, 
and laid them, their jewelled hilts flashing in 
the lamplight, on the carpets ; Tomalyn, mean- 
while, watching his enemy as if in a dream. 
When Kourrian had arranged the parcel to 
his liking, he took Crane’s watch and chain, 
the sleeve-links from his shirt-sleeves, his gold 
cigarette-case, and silver match-box. These 
he thrust into some baggy recess of his volu- 
minous trousers, tied up the parcel of carpets 
and weapons, and looked round to find out 
whether anything else of value had escaped 
his searching notice. Seeing there was noth- 
ing, he tested the weight of the bundle, gave 
a grunt, and turned towards the foot of the 
bed. The arrangement of the parcel did not 
suit him, however. He put it down on the 


249 


floor again, and began to tie up a corner which 
had broken open. 

“ Ohe ! the sooner I’m away to thj own 
country the better,” he muttered, rather shame- 
facedly^ The Kyatib Effendi can’t get better ; 
he must die. It is Tcismet Besides, I prom- 
ised Miss Ulverstone not to kill him, or I’d put 
him out of his misery with a dagger-thrust. 
Typhoid always kills these Englishmen — like 
flies. Curse that dog ! It looks as if it want- 
ed to fly at me. I sent away the doctor to- 
night — some fool had asked him to come — 
telling him it was all a mistake, and that the 
Kyatib Effendi had gone out to the Ulver- 
stones’ to dinner. Even if the doctor comes 
again to-morrow, the fever will have got hold 
of the Kyatib Effendi by that time. It mightn’t 
be too late if I left word at the doctor’s now. 
But why run the risk? I’ve lost all that money, 
and must be off. Curse the knot ! Ko ; Inshal- 
lah. I’ll go to Sivas as soon as possible and open 
a shop. I shall soon be a rich man with all 
this property of the Kyatib Effendi’s to start 
with, if I don’t gamble it away. I sha’n’t get 
such another chance. I had to come to him 
like this, or I could never have got a passport 
for the interior. Oh, I am a wise man — a great 
man ! These fools of Kussians never thought 


250 


of this. I will marry a lovely, fat wife — per- 
haps two — and — ” 

Kourrian !” sounded a weak, hollow whis- 
per from the bed — a whisper which sent a 
thrill of fear through the scoundrel’s mar- 
row, so ghostly and unreal was it. ‘‘Kour- 
rian !” 

Kourrian turned round, stealthily grasping 
a dagger in the bundle. Tomalyn was propped 
up on one elbow in bed, looking at him with 
dull, glazing eyes. On the pillow b}’' his side 
rested a revolver, which covered Kourrian 
completely. 

“ Don’t move, Kourrian,” said the ghostly, 
thin, unreal voice, “ or I — fire.” 

Kourrian’s sensual eyes became bloodshot. 
He held up his hands with a supplicating gest- 
ure as Tomalyn’s thin fingers languidly wound 
round the revolver. 

“ Mercy, Effendi ; spare me !” 

The ghostly whisper sounded again from 
the bed. “ Kourrian, I’m dy — ing. You’ve — 
killed — me. When — my — senses — fade — I — 
fire.” 

Kourrian fell on his knees. There was no 
escape now. 

“ One — two — three ! I — ” 

Some one in the house was awakened by 


251 


the sound of a pistol-shot. When the porter 
entered the room Kourrian lay sprawling over 
the pile of carpets, with a bullet-hole in the 
middle of his forehead, while Tomalyn delir- 
iously babbled and shouted on the bed. 


CHAPTER XV 


BETWIXT TWO WORLDS 

When Tomalyn recovered his senses, he 
was dimly conscious of a grave voice sound- 
ing in his ears ; but who spoke, or what the 
speaker intended to convey, he could not dis- 
tinguish in the least. Presently, as his soul 
swam up from the dim underworld in which 
it had wandered for so long, he became able 
to recognize — for the moment, as it were 
— that he was in his own room. But he 
could not see Kourrian ; there were no night- 
mare dreams to haunt him, no horrid hags to 
sit upon his chest and rend his throat with 
skinny fingers as they leered and mocked and 
thrust him downward through space. The 
sun beat in upon him; a breath of cool air 
blew gratefully from the open window ; and 
it suddenly occurred to him that the man sit- 
ting by the side of the bed was Dr. Peterkin, 
of the British Consular Hospital. 

“You haven’t been listening to a word of 
what Pve said,” declared the doctor. 


253 


« Why will you always wear a gray waist- 
coat with a black coat, doctor?” Tomalyn 
earnestly inquired. You don’t know what 
fun the fellows at the club make of you. I 
believe you’ll be buried in it.” 

Dr. Peterkin’s kindly brown eyes twinkled 
for the moment. 

Look here, young man, you can’t be so ill 
if you’re able to tell what kind of waistcoat 
Pm wearing.” 

“Oh, but I am ill,” confidently remarked 
Tomalyn. “ I believe I must have shot a fel- 
low last night. He was stealing my carpets. 
He took them down from the walls. Pve 
been dreaming of him all night.” 

“ Honsense, man, nonsense ! Let me lift 
you up a bit. There ! there !” Peterkin put 
a kindly arm round the lad’s wasted shoul- 
ders. “ Convince yourself it’s all a dream. 
Look, there are the carpets on the wall.” 

“ But I saw him fall,” said Tomalyn, obsti- 
nately. “ His blood ran over the carpet.” 

“ Honsense, lad, nonsense ! Ho one would 
have taken the trouble to put up the carpets 
again.” (The little doctor was lying hard, 
but wanted to help his patient.) “You’d 
have noticed the marks on the paper if 
they had been taken down. Come and stay 


254 


with me for a few days, and I’ll look after 
you.” 

‘‘Did Miss Ulverstone send you to look 
after me dreamily asked Tomalyn. 

“Of course she did. You ought to have 
been at the dinner-party last night, and she 
grew anxious when you didn’t turn up. I 
came in on my way home.” 

(The doctor did not think it necessary to 
tell Tomalyn that he had helped to remove 
Kourrian’s body, and put the things up again, 
so that when Tomalyn regained consciousness 
— if he ever did come to his senses — he should 
not know what had happened. As a matter 
of fact, he had spent the rest of the night by 
the lad’s bedside.) 

“ Will you give her my love ?” Tomaljm 
heard his own voice saying, faintly, “ and tell 
her I should like to see her again before — ” 

“ITonsense, man! I’m not going to send 
compromising messages like that to any 
young lady. My hamals are coming up di- 
rectly with a Sedan chair, and we’ll have you 
down at my private rooms in the hospital be- 
fore you can say Jack Eobinson.” 

“ But I don’t want to say Jack Eobinson,” 
Tomalyn querulously insisted. “I’d rather 
say my prayers.” 


255 


Of course. ISTow let me help you on with 
your things. That’s it. Steady! steady! You 
can’t get both legs into one trouser. Swallow 
this. ISTow, can you walk?” 

Tomalyn tried, but fell back. 

Of course you can’t. You’re a bit weak 
after your troubles. Of course you are. Don’t 
tell me. I know all about it. Here, Demetri 
and Youssouf, carry the Effendi down-stairs. 
If you jolt him I’ll stop your wages, you ras- 
cals. Steady there ! Steady ! Mind the cor- 
ner there. Put your arms around their necks. 
My dear sir, my very de-ar sir, of course you 
can’t have your canary. You’re not an old 
maid. Well, well; if you insist. Demetri, 
run to the landlady and tell her to look after 
the canary before the cats get it. My dear 
Crane, I’ve no time to carry it myself. Here 
we are at the street door. I’ll go on and see 
that everything’s ready. Put him in care- 
fully. That’s it 1 that’s it ! How, Crane, we’ll 
see who can get there first.” And the good- 
hearted little man bustled off ahead. 

“ It’s an infernally bad case,” he said, look- 
ing back without stopping and watching the 
Sedan chair coming slowly up the street. 
“ An infernally bad case. It will take all Prov- 
idence can do — with my help — to pull him 


256 


through. Now, there’s that dog coming as 
well. People will think we’re going to start 
a menagerie. But I must be off.” 

Tomalyn had been tied into the Sedan chair ; 
but all the care in the world could not prevent 
him from hitting his nose against the glass 
window in front as the bearers carried him 
towards the hospital. He had a vague sense 
of passing through a multi-colored crowd. 
Two of his old friends, the dancing dervishes, 
stood at the corner of the Tunnel, sadly selling 
tobacco to giaours who thronged the streets. 
A drove of brick-laden donkeys dashed against 
the Sedan chair, and nearly upset it, causing 
Tomalyn to laugh faintly and think how funny 
it was. 

It still seemed funny to him when they ar- 
rived at a large, bleak -looking building, and 
two men who wore felt slippers put him in a 
kind of chair, strapped him in, and carried him 
up interminable flights of steps, until they 
came to a room full of little white beds, in 
which every one seemed to be asleep. This 
long room opened into another room ; beyond 
this was a passage leading to a smaller room, 
which seemed to have nothing in it but a bed. 
Something cold touched Tomalyn’s hand as 
the chair was set down, and Fatima thrust her 


257 


nose sympathetically into his wasted palm. 
Then the men undressed him, put him into the 
bed, and he fell asleep. 

He seemed to wake up in a little while — he 
had been in the hospital a fortnight — only to 
become conscious of more voices around him. 

“ Do you think he has been properly bap- 
tized?” asked the Embassy chaplain of Peterkin. 

“ He raves all the time that he hasn’t,” 
said Miss Ulverstone’s sweet, gentle tones. 
“ Perhaps he will feel that it is being done if 
you will kindly go on with the service.” 

Then the muttering of one voice began again : 
“ If thou art not already baptized, Tomalyn, I 
baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of 
the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” A 
wet thumb made the sign of the cross on Toma- 
lyn’s forehead and the monotonous voice con- 
tinued: ‘‘We receive this person into the con- 
gregation of Christ’s flock, and do sign him 
with the sign of the cross, in token that here- 
after he shall not be ashamed to confess the 
faith of — ” 

And then Tomalyn fell asleep again, won- 
dering feebly what it all meant, yet weakly 
clasping the hand which held his own. 

After this it seemed to Tomalyn that he 
never did anything else but fall asleep and 

17 


258 


wake up at brief intervals. One morning, 
however, he remembered that he was hungry. 
Something seemed to fix him to the bed. He 
could not even lift his head or his hands. A 
reassuring thump-thump on the floor betoken- 
ed that Fatima was near ; but when he tried 
to speak to her the only sound which came 
from his lips was a hoarse whisper. A huge 
man in blue sat by the side of the bed, with a 
cup of something in his hand. 

Ay, ay, sir,” he said, in response to Toma- 
lyn’s whisper. The doctor said you’d be 
awake in a few minutes. How I’ll prop you 
up and give you your allowance, seeing as you 
can’t help yourself.” 

Spoonful after spoonful of some liquid was 
forced down Tomalyn’s throat. Sometimes 
he fell asleep before the spoon reached his lips. 
In a few minutes he was awake and hungry 
again. This stage lasted for nearly a week. 
During the day the nautical person, who was 
recovering from a broken leg, looked after 
liim and explained all that happened. 

Typhoid, they call it, sir,” he said to Toma- 
lyn. “ The water in your bath was poisoned — 
the doctor found it out— and that settled you. 
I don’t suppose you ever really drank water, 
did you, sir ?” 


259 


“Oh yes,” feebly assented Tomalyn, who 
was propped up in bed with blankets round 
him. 

The nautical man went steadily on with his 
knitting. 

“ The things you young gentlemen will do 
when there’s such a precious lot of rum in the 
world 1 No wonder you got ill, sir. You was 
hollering for your mother one night, sir, and a 
young lady came and held your hand, and you 
thought it was your mother, and went to sleep 
just at the crisis. Afore that the street dogs 
disturbed you, so the doctor had a cartload of 
’em poisoned and chucked into the Bosphorus. 
But, Lor’ bless you, sir, ’twarn’t no manner of 
good. A fresh lot filled up the place next day. 
One night, when I was on duty instead of the 
young lady, you jumped out of bed and was 
half-way through the window afore I caught 
you by the leg. You was always hollering 
about killing people and all that blooming 
gammon.” 

An awful thought occurred to poor Toma- 
lyn. “ I trust that my — that is — while I 
was raving I — I didn’t use language unbe- 
coming a gentleman ?” 

“ No, sir, no, sir,” cheerfully said the man in 
blue — “ oh no, sir. You did cuss and damn a 


260 


bit ; but not more' n a real gentleman orter do. 
Oh no, sir. You was as mild as a pet lamb 
compared with some of them A. B.’s forrard,” 
and he pointed in the direction of the long 
room with his knitting-needles. 

It was a real grief to Tomalyn when the man 
in blue became convalescent and a bustling 
English nurse took his place. The assistant 
doctor, too, was learning to play the flute in 
his chiefs absence ; and, not content with 
learning, must needs manufacture his own in- 
struments. He was as strong as a bull, but 
twice nearly caused Tomalyn a relapse before 
Peterkin discovered what was going on, and 
pitched the flute into the hospital dust-bin. 
Then the assistant doctor amused Tomalyn by 
bending pokers on his own arm — just to keep 
up the patient’s spirits. 

Tomalyn’s day began with the crowing of a 
little bantam which lived in a garden behind 
the hospital. This always warned him that 
breakfast would be due in ten minutes, and he 
passed the time in an agony of impatience. 
Once the bantam made a mistake, and woke 
Tomalyn up in the middle of the night. He 
nearly cried himself to sleep when his break- 
fast did not come ; but the night-nurse, whose 
face he could not see, comforted him with a 


261 


few soft biscuits and promised to make the 
bantam behave better in future. The painful 
part of his illness was the consuming hunger 
which possessed him every few minutes. He 
was always hungry, and would have killed him- 
self half a dozen times over could he have got 
at any food. Sometimes he would call back 
the attendant and eagerly devour any stray 
crumbs which were left on the tray. After 
the man in blue went, Tomalyn was handed 
over to an Armenian in the daytime. This 
Armenian was a good-hearted fellow, but thor- 
oughly simple. One day he was told to give 
Tomalyn a bath. When the lad’s poor, wasted, 
pipestick legs flew up in the air and Tomalyn’s 
head sank to the bottom of the bath, the Ar- 
menian thought it so funny that Tomalyn was 
nearly drowned before he was brought up to 
the surface again. 

After breakfast, Tomalyn generally went to 
sleep, or began letters to his mother, which 
were never finished. He did not know that 
his mother came every day to watch him 
from the next room while he slept. Peterkin 
thought that Tomalyn was not yet strong 
enough to bear any surprise, however pleasant. 
Once or twice, when Tomalyn was allowed to 
crawl about the room, he nearly discovered 


262 


her. At this juncture he wanted to see Miss 
Ulverstone more than any one else ; but she 
had gone away, after nursing him through 
the crisis, and no one knew what had become 
of her. 

Suddenly Tomalyn began to have a horrible 
fear of death. The room beyond his was 
empty save for a bed. One day he managed 
to crawl to the door of this room and looked 
in, only to stagger back, almost fainting, into 
the strong arms of his nurse. 

There’s a coffin on the bed. It’s covered 
with a sheet,” he whispered, clinging to the 
man with almost childish terror. 

The Armenian tried to reassure him ; but all 
through the night Tomalyn tossed about in an 
agony of apprehension. That was his coffin in 
the next room. It was horrible to think that 
it waited for him, in case anything went 
wrong. Peterkin shook his head the next 
morning. 

What's worrying you he asked kindly. 

But Tomalyn, for very shame, could not 
mention his fears. When the doctor and nurse 
had both left him for a little while, he crept 
along the floor with beating heart and drew 
himself up against the bed in the next room. 
Slowly, with averted head, he pulled off the 


263 


covering from the supposed coffin, and found 
— a long iron fender ! 

After this his recovery was rapid. He awoke 
at early dawn and listened to the jingling of 
the goat-bells as the goat-herd drove his flock 
down the street and milked the animals on the 
doorstep. In order to prove that there was no 
deception, he did not consider it at all neces- 
sary to show the bottle of water which was 
concealed up his sleeve. Tomalyn measured 
the time to a nicety from the first, faint, dis- 
tant tinkle until the arrival of the goats at the 
hospital steps, when the rich, warm milk was 
brought up to him in a quaint little can. 

He came back to life with the zest of a little 
child. Everything was wonderful, everything 
strange. Words were missing at first; they 
refused to piece themselves together when his 
mother, stately and silver-haired, bent over 
him, while Fatima’s tail went thump-thump on 
the floor. Tomalyn understood now why he 
had so often heard that thump-thump without 
any apparent reason.^ Fatima’s ruddy coat 
was glossy and well groomed ; that ordinarily 
dejected mongrel was so gay in her silver col- 
lar that Tomalyn hardly knew her again until 
she once more resumed her post on his bed 
and declined to move for any one. 


264 


Tomalyn had one more narrow escape, in 
this wise : He complained bitterly of not hav- 
ing enough to eat. 

‘‘ Is there anything you could fanc}^, my 
dearest boy asked old Mrs. Crane, anxiously, 
not understanding the necessity for the strict- 
est diet. 

“ I should like,” said Tomalyn, reflectively, 
“ about the biggest cake that was ever made, 
full of currants, and raisins, and spices, and 
things.” 

“ You shall have it,” said Mrs. Crane. I 
will go back to the hotel and have one made 
at once.” 

Peterkin overheard Mrs. Crane and waylaid 
her on the stairs. 

“You may bring that cake down here to 
him on one condition, madam,” he said, ab- 
ruptly. 

“ I will do anything,” replied the anxious 
mother. “ What is the condition, doctor ?” 

“ That you bring a tombstone as well,” said 
Peterkin ; “ for I give you my word of honor 
that if he touches the one he will want the 
other.” 

And so Tomalyn never got his cake, after 
all. 


CHAPTER XVI 


NEMESIS 

The masked ball was in full swing. So close- 
ly, indeed, were people packed on the vast floor 
of the theatre, which had been hired for the 
occasion, that a particularly long, lean, and 
picturesque-looking Mephistopheles withdrew 
from the throng of dancers and leaned against 
a pillar in an abstraction which, although ad- 
mirably suited to the part, was not altogether 
feigned. Once, when a pantaloon smote him 
on the head with a bladder, he was moved to 
express himself with such vehement fierceness 
that his enemy slunk away, absurdly telling 
Mephistopheles to “ go to the devil.” Mephis- 
topheles smiled grimly after his sudden out- 
burst of wrath and continued to reflect as the 
dancers swayed from side to side within a few 
feet of his pillar. On the other side of the 
pillar the fore and hind legs of an elephant 
cursed volubly at being nearly stifled to death, 
and prayed for the hour to come when they 


266 


would be permitted to unmask. Every few 
minutes the whole vast throng came to a dead 
stop owing to the increasing crowd, while the 
music continued to rain down silvery notes 
from the dress circle. When the crowd thinned 
a little and the elephant had been driven into 
a corner by the pantaloon — the unseen in- 
dividuals within the beast’s body vainly ex- 
pressing their disapprobation of this arbitrary 
proceeding in the choicest English — a masked 
woman, who had been leaning against another 
pillar and steadfastly refusing all invitations to 
dance, came up to Mephistopheles and lightly 
tapped him on the shoulder. 

This time Mephistopheles did not indulge in 
expletives. 

‘‘You!” he said, in amazement. “Who 
would have thought of seeing you here 

“ Give me your arm, doctor, and take me 
into one of the anterooms. I am tired of this 
— tired of everything.” 

“ But, my dear Mrs. Brang — ” 

“ Sh-h-sh ! I don’t want to be recognized, 
doctor. Give me your arm.” 

Within a few feet of the door they encoun- 
tered the grinning pantaloon, fresh from an- 
other combat with the elephant, which had 
planted one hind-leg in his — the pantaloon’s — 


267 


stomach. On seeing Mephistopheles and his 
companion, the pantaloon immediately made 
for them with sundry flourishes of his blad- 
der. Dr. Moroni slipped his hand into his 
pocket, and then held it up as if to ward off 
the blow. A convenient lancet-point pricked 
the bladder and burst it. 

“ Monsieur,” he said politely to the owner 
of the bladder, who was becoming angry at 
being thus prevented from making a general 
nuisance of himself, “ I give you my word of 
honor that if you annoy me again to-night 
with your bladders I will kill you.” 

He spoke so fiercely that the abashed pan- 
taloon slunk into the crowd and wondered 
why people could not take a joke in the spirit 
in which it was meant. Then some one hit 
him on the head with a bladder, and he, too, 
could not understand why foolish things like 
bladders were allowed to be used in such a 
crowd. 

Moroni, the doctor, had an enviable reputa- 
tion as a specialist — so great, indeed, that he 
was constantly embarrassing himself in his 
endeavor to live up to it. Ho extravagance 
was too wild for the successful operator. His 
name was familiar to every doctor in Europe ; 
he wUs at once the pride and the disgrace of 


268 


his profession. But now ruin stared him in 
the face, and he was cudgelling his brains to 
discover some means of escape from a swarm 
of angry creditors. 

“ That four thousand would put me straight 
for a year, if I could only find a qualified per- 
son from whom to transfer the skin,” he mut- 
tered as he sat down by Mrs. Brangwyn and 
wondered if it were pleasanter for a man to 
go to the devil with the accompaniment of 
sweet music, or ’^vhether it would be more ap- 
propriate to disappear in the murky night 
and leave no track behind. 

“ Your refiections don’t seem to be pleasant 
ones, doctor,” said Mrs. Brangwyn. They 
were intimate friends; and, as such, never 
fenced with each other. 

1^0,” said Moroni, meditatively, “ they 
are not, my dear Mrs. Brangwyn. As a 
matter of fact — a very unpleasant matter 
of fact — unless I can raise a couple of thou- 
sand pounds for myself in a few days I shall 
have to disappear — go under — never come up 
again.” 

Mrs. Brangwyn shuddered a little. ‘‘ I also 
have come to the same conclusion. But I 
should like to disappear honorably. Two 
thousand would pay my debts of honor,* and 


3G9 


then I intend to join the Sisters of the Sacred 
Eobe.” 

‘‘ What ! And try a fresh life altogether ? 
You ? You couldn’t live out of society. Let 
me feel your pulse.” 

‘‘ Oh yes, I could. I’m tired of it all. My 
beauty is going. I want the excitement of 
good works. Bad ones only bore me now. 
Gorchoff is dead — 3^ou see, I am quite frank 
with you — and most of my supplies are cut 
off.” 

Moroni smiled sardonically. “ Oh, I see ; 
and the good works are to be the customary 
insurance business. My dear Mrs. Brangwyn, 
it’s as old as the hills.” 

“ So is sin.” 

“Ah, well!” He shrugged his shoulders. 
“The hills have a springtime; sin is always 
old. But why this insane desire to pay your 
debts ? It is setting others such a bad exam- 
ple. You will demoralize all these rascally 
tradesmen.” 

She smiled rather faintly. “It does seem 
insane,” she admitted ; “ but I don’t very well 
see how I could start fair until I had done it. 
Do you? It would always be what these 
same tradespeople call a ‘ debit balance ’ 
against me. Don’t you think so ?” 


270 


“Um-m. No ; not exactly.” 

“Well, then, the situation remains the same. 
Please call my Sedan chair for me. I am tired 
and want to go home.” 

Instead of calling Mrs. Brangwyn’s chair, 
Moroni drew her back into a corner. 

“ I have a suggestion to make.” 

She removed her mask for a moment, as if 
needing air. Moroni saw that she was very 
pale. 

“ Give me the means to pay my debts,” she 
said ; “ that is all I ask. I am sick of the 
world. It has nothing fresh to offer me. I 
want a new environment.” 

“ You would be tired of your convent in a 
month and beg to be allowed to come out of 
it.” 

“ That is the difficulty,” she said, medita- 
tively. “ I must not be able to come out 
again. I want to do something which will 
render retreat impossible.” 

“You are quite determined? The thing I 
have in my mind can never be undone ; it is 
ultimate, final, irrevocable.” 

“ I thought we had already settled that. 
Please get me my chair.” 

“ Wait a moment. Ihn in the garb of Meph- 
istopheles; we have the appropriate music 


271 


and lights. Suppose I take advantage of the 
opportunity to make a demoniacal proposal to 
you ? I’ll call your chair, if you like ; hut this 
may offer you a way out.” 

Tell me your proposal ; I am not easily 
shocked. And I do want to see a way out of 
being reckoned a common swindler.” 

Moroni stopped. His proposal was not so 
easy, after all. 

“It involves the loss of your beauty,” he 
said ; “ and the pain, for a time, would be con- 
siderable.” 

“Beauty is only a cloak,” said the worn- 
out, satiated woman of the world. I want to 
see myself as I really am.” 

“To be sure,” said Moroni, as if he had 
never heard such a statement before. “But 
there are cloaks and cloaks; and you might 
not like yourself afterwards. Men seldom 
look beloAv the surface.” 

She toyed with her silken mask. “ It must 
be something very bad, if even you can hesi- 
tate. We know each other so well that we 
need not mince matters.” 

“ Oh, I am not hesitating. You are just the 
person I want. I will give you two thousand 
pounds if you consent to undergo an opera- 
tion, trivial in itself, but somewhat painful.” 


272 


‘‘YesT 

“ You have the most beautiful complexion 
in Constantinople. If you will allow me to 
take patches of skin from it, I will hand you 
two thousand pounds, and you can then pay 
your debt.” 

“ Ah-h-h ! But who — ” 

“Never mind. It is part of the bargain 
that you are not to ask any questions. It 
cannot matter to you.” 

Even then no suspicion of the truth entered 
her mind. 

“Would the after - results be very fright- 
ful ?” she asked. 

“You will look rather worse than if your 
face were seamed and scarred with small-pox,” 
said Moroni. 

“ Ah, well, that won’t matter much. I sup- 
pose you will put me under the influence of 
an ansesthetic ?” 

“ Of course.” 

“And after?” 

“Oh, you will soon recover. It is the 
growth of the new skin which will be irritat- 
ing and painful. You will then have to keep 
to good works. Here is one more chance for 
you, though we both want money desperately. 
Shall I put you in your chair and let the mat- 


273 


ter drop ? I should hate to spoil your beauty. 
The skin would have to be taken off in little 
patches.” 

“ And I want to spoil my beauty,” she said, 
fiercely. “Every fragment that is removed 
will cleanse my soul of a sin. As an ugly 
woman I might have been happy. People 
would have told me home truths, and I 
shouldn’t have wanted the universe.” 

“You have had your universe — for a time! 
I thought you didn’t want it any more.” 

“ Oh, well,” she said, in tired tones, “ I have, 
pampered and petted my beauty all my life, 
until it has made a vile woman of me. My. 
chance came when it was too late — chances 
always do come too late in real life — and I 
missed it. That is what I regret more than 
anything else. You and I, my friend, are go- 
ing under. You may, perhaps, put off the evil 
day for a year or two, but it will surely come. 
I am no Cassandra to predict misfortunes, but 
you carry it in your face. I am going under 
at once; I can bear it better now. Pd kill 
myself, only I am afraid to die. I am like a 
would-be suicide who throws himself into the 
water and dares not drown, but strikes out for 
the shore. What bad music this is ! The air 
is full of dust. I wonder I came ; but I could 
18 


274 


not stop at home with that unsympathetic 
Mrs. Wyville Bains. She’s horrified at me, 
and leaves Constantinople to-morrow. Oh, I 
am tired, tired, tired of it all ! I wish I could 
die ; but I can’t, I can’t, I can’t !” 

Moroni preserved a discreet silence. Here 
was the opportunity for which he had been 
vainly longing a short time ago. And yet, to 
do him justice, he did not seek to influence her 
in any way ; but shrugged his shoulders, lift- 
ed his Mephistophelian eyebrows, and waited. 
He would have no hand or share in the deed. 
If her necessities compelled her to accept the 
offer, the responsibility for it should not be 
thrown upon his shoulders. It was the first 
time, he reflected, that the devil had ever em- 
ployed any one in the guise of a devil to carry 
out his work. They both wanted money, and 
that was the end of it all. As for the opera- 
tion — bah ! A mere trick of the scalpel. Any 
fool could do it who had the requisite nerve 
and patience. 

“ Take me to my chair. I will let you know 
definitely to-morrow.” 

The music turned to a joyous waltz as fresh 
groups of dancers streamed through the ante- 
room, impatient to join this carnival of folly. 
Mrs. Brangwyn knew several of them, and 


275 


bowed graciously. The men envied Mephis- 
topheles. One woman turned with a light 
laugh to her companions. 

‘‘What a pity there isn’t a stage female 
Mephistopheles also ! They would make such 
a charming pair !” 

“ Hush !” said the girl’s companion. “ She’ll 
hear you.” And they passed on. 

“ I should like to stay in the world a little 
longer, to win that girl’s lover away from 
her,” thought Mrs. Brangwyn. 

“ Oh, by-the-way,” said Moroni, indifferent- 
ly, “I met Peterkin this afternoon. He says 
that young fellow Staine, or Eaine — ” 

“ Crane 

“ Will recover if people prevent his eating 
too much. That’s always the dangerous thing 
after typhoid, you know.” 

Mrs. Brangwyn felt momentarily glad to 
hear that there was a chance for Tomalyn, 
though she knew that his only sentiment for 
her would be one of consistent loathing to the 
end of his days. He had taken his quest for 
experiences more earnestly than most people ; 
that was all. But he had loved her with a 
very great love-^a love which had absorbed 
him, to the exclusion of all else, until her own 
vileness had opened his eyes and he had seen 


276 


how pitiful was the thing he worshipped. 
There yet remained to her shreds and patches 
of honor. She would “ find her soul ” before 
she fell still lower, and put off her beauty as 
one doffs a garment which has ceased to please. 
Life had not been without its compensations. 
ITow sha must pay the price for them while 
the mood was on her. She could not be com- 
monplace, or serve where she had once ruled. 
And the nun’s veil made all things equal at 
last. The women who became nuns really 
died when the convent gate had once opened 
and shut upon them. 

With the last falling strains of the music in 
her ears, she turned and took Moroni’s arm, 
passing through the revellers with light, elas- 
tic step and haughtily poised head, her mask 
in her hand. There was a gracious smile upon 
her lips as she swept along the corridor into 
the silence of the night. Long after, when Mrs. 
Brangwyn was no more seen in public, men 
remembered that proud exit and how it had 
made their own womenkind seem poor and ugly 
and pitiful as she went away. But the women 
breathed more freely when she had gone. 

“I thought,” said Tomalyn, reproachfully, 
about two months after the beginning of his 


277 


illness, “you were never coming to see me 
again.” 

Miss Ulverstone hesitated a moment. “ I 
have been beautifying myself for your sake.” 
She spoke lightly, but her lips quivered. 

Tomalyn regarded her critically. Miss Ul- 
verstone looked positively beautiful. Her 
complexion was fair and delicately rosy, the 
skin transparent. 

“ You mustn’t ask me how or why it was 
done,” she said. “ You know, Tomalyn, you 
would never have wanted me to be your wife 
if my features had remained blurred and 
thickened by my coarse, ugly skin.” 

Tomalyn regarded her gravely. “ Do you 
remember holding my hand when I was de- 
lirious ?” 

“Yes.” 

“I had a brief interval of consciousness, in 
which I vowed to God that if I ever recovered 
I would ask you to be my wife. A man is 
always attracted by a woman’s beauty and 
thinks that her soul corresponds. That is 
why I would have all good women beautiful. 
You know my infatuation ; and I want you 
to think kindly of her. She wasn’t free to 
act as she might have done under happier cir- 
cumstances. Gorchoff had snared her, hand 


278 


and foot. And she couldn’t help playing upon 
men’s hearts ; she knew all the tunes so well. 
They say she has disappeared.” Tomalyn 
buried his face in his hands. “I’ve got my 
life — with you — to begin — aU over again. 
Hers seems to be ended. I’m none the worse 
for what I’ve gone through. I set out in 
search of experiences ; I’ve found them — and 
you ! Will you help me to find her ? She 
mustn’t be allowed to disappear. It’s hor- 
rible to think of her being swallowed up. 
Mrs. Wyville Bains has gone away without 
even caring to find out where she is.” 

But as Tomalyn spoke. Miss Ulverstone, 
who was behind him, clutched the back of the 
chair and stared with widely opened eyes. 
On the threshold stood a woman in the coarse 
dress of a nun. The long, black veil which 
she wore, Turkish fashion, up to the eyes, 
had dropped away. The woman’s face was 
scarred and seamed and wrinkled with curious 
minute lines and patches, which ran in all 
directions, as if little pieces of skin had been 
cut out from all over her face. Both women 
suddenly realized what had happened. The 
nun’s beautiful eyes blazed with anger; she 
made a step forward towards Tomalyn, who 
did not look up. But on the very threshold 


279 


she halted irresolutely, gazed long and stead- 
fastly at Tomalyn, replaced her veil, and 
glided away. 

Tomalyn, roused from his abstraction, 
looked up as Miss Ulverstone fell on her 
knees beside him. 

‘‘ Save me ! Save me from her 1” she cried, 
wildly. “ Tomalyn, if you only care for me 
because I am no longer ugly, I will kill my- 
self.” 

Tomalyn put his thin arms around her. 
“ You need not have troubled about your face, 
dear. I love you. Do you thinlc we shall ever 
see her again 

“ Tomalyn,” said his mother’s gentle voice, 
“Eussia has declared war against Turkey, 
and Fatima is drinking your beef-tea.” 


THE END 




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